Rule of two, dreams come true
by Darklooshkin
Summary: Whitetigerwolfs Dark Lady challenge. Hermione watches Star Wars at age six and tries to connect with the force. Now watch how a game of pretend turns into a journey to the dark side filled with -friendship and love? Yes, Harry's responsible somehow...
1. Prequel: Articles of faith

Rule of two, dreams come true.

Announcement: don't own anything. The army of studios, factories and entertainment distributors do. Original ideas and work by JK Rowling and George Lucas.

This is not a cross-over. Yes, Star Wars will heavily influence Harry's and Hermione's development, outlook and convictions, but you won't actually have any Star Wars characters suddenly appearing on jolly ole Earth. Rather, Star Wars is still fiction in this setting. But magic, magic has a way of screwing over any reality it is a part of, especially in the HP 'verse.

**Of how the dark ages of magic ended and the future of the human race began**

Introduction:

There was once a little girl, of bushy hair and large-toothed cuteness was she,

Going by the name of Hermione.

Yet none approached the poor little girl,

All alone, she was in the world.

Until one day, off to watch a movie she went,

Which thrilled her, apalled her, and left her a little bit bent.

And so she watched the sequel,

And saw something calling to her as an equal.

But when she saw the final act of the trilogy,

She raged at the unfairness and bias of the story.

And on that day, she entered a pact,

That she would turn the story into fact.

But this time, she vowed, reality would set in,

And the vilified ones, the rightful victors, shall win.

And so a little girl caught in the dreams of stars and far off wonders,

Burned a prophecy, a world and its promise of stability to cinders.

In favor of chaos and upset,

That few would enjoy and many come to regret.

And thus ends this story, and its point I shall gift unto you,

Sometimes, the most horrifying thing is seeing a childhood dream come true.

_Inscription found on a tomb on old earth, translated by Melchior Malthus in the year of our Lady 6519 (imperial standard measurement)._

**Prequel: an article of faith**

_Stonewall primary school, 1986_

Freak didn't know that he had a name until this morning. In fact, Freak didn't know a lot of things. Things such as who he was, who his parents were, what they were like (Freak didn't believe Dear Auntie, not that he ever believed anything she told him) and why he wasn't with them. Freak, in fact, knew very little about himself and where he came from. He knew that he didn't know these things and probably never would. Yet Freak didn't let himself be discouraged by these things, for he was finally somewhere where he could Learn Things. He didn't know what these Things were, but learning sounded exciting to his starving brain. And the first thing Freak had learned was that his name wasn't Freak.

He'd expected the teacher to call out his name when she came to F (for he could read and write already, thanks to Sesame Street and Figg the Lady of Cats), but his name hadn't been called. Dudley's had been called. Presumably everyone else's had been called, since he'd counted fifteen other children and sixteen names on the roster (he'd learned how to count by himself. The Lady of Cats had been unable to teach that, for some reason), and he'd started to get worried after the teacher got to G and everyone had laid claim to a name. He wondered if this was some naming ceremony he hadn't been told about, where those without names could claim an unclaimed name for themselves. His relatives never bothered telling him things. He'd had to figure out how to cook, clean and wash clothes by himself. That didn't stop them from punishing him for Doing Something Wrong or even Being Freakish By Doing Something Too Good. His mind made up, he decided to claim the first name nobody else took. He didn't want to challenge them, after all. It would be seen as something Freakish. Freakishness hurt.

And then it happened. The teacher called out "Potter, Harry" and no-one laid claim to that name. He wondered why nobody would want that name and decided he'd find out later. He hesitantly raised his hand, waited for the teacher to see it, and lowered it again after the teacher's curt nod. She'd accepted his claim to the name. His name was Potter, Harry. He was Freak no longer. He found that he liked this Learning thing more than anything else.

Hermione Granger was a lonely child and she knew it. It was hard for her not to know this as she looked around the classroom, taking in the sights and sounds generated by an excited group of schoolchildren whispering excitingly to each other. They all buzzed about how good it was to see this or that person, how exciting this was, how they were now Adults and Doing Things like their parents did. No-one talked to her. Nobody wants to talk to the freak, after all. She would cry, if she cared. She knew, had known for a long time now (about three months, which kids often misinterpret as Forever) that she was not like the other kids. It was not because she loved books, though that was why others called her freak, the little hypocrites. No, it was because she noticed things no-one else did, saw things others missed, felt things that none of her peers seemed to. She had been somewhat scared of these things, and had proceeded to drown out the strange and incredible things it seemed only she could see with books and thinking. Admirable as this was as a distraction, it was not enough. She still saw and felt the strange things, though the books she'd read had taught her to pay attention to them and study, rather than fear, them. And three months ago, it had clicked. Her Dad, who loved her dearly, had brought a videocassette back home with him. Curious, she'd read the title of the film: Star Wars. And she'd asked Hermione's Favourite Words:

"Daddy, what's this?"

"That, my little honey pumpkin, is a film called Star Wars."

"I know Daddy, but what is the film about?"

Her father smiled at her, delighted by her curiosity (he was proud of how smart she was, just like him and her mother) and said:

"It's about adventure, sweetie. About dashing knights, damsels in distress, an evil empire and many other things."

Hermione frowned at that.

"Daddy, you forgot to mention the dragons and unicorns."

After laughing, her father took the cassette out of its box and motioned her to follow into the living room.

"No pumpkin, it doesn't have any of those things. But it does have spaceships and planets."

"Really?"

And her father chuckled, sat her in front of the TV with Mommy who'd brought snacks with her and pressed Play on the Video Box.

"Watch sweetie. You'll love it."

And she had. She'd seen the pictures of spaceships and stars in her books about space travel. They looked rickety and fragile to her, yet people had gone to the Moon in them! She'd thought then that those people were crazy, but that she'd be crazy too if it meant she would be allowed to go walk on the moon. And there, sitting with her dad in front of the TV, she saw something truly magical. These looked real! They were huge ships that flew in space, not a three-person flying sleepover cabinet! And the swords, the space princess, the adventure! But by far her favourite part had been at the start of the film. When the door opened and the soldiers in white poured through, she saw the monstrosity dressed in black for the first time. She heard the breathing. She heard the voice. She felt the icy grip of fear on her spine yanking ever upwards. It's almost as if the figure was not in the box, but right in front of her, choking the captain to death. This was not like the Daleks she'd seen on TV, where she'd decided to hide behind the sofa. She was riveted in the spot. It's almost as if any movement, any at all, would result in the black clad monstrosity turning to face her, reach out from the TV set and choke _her_ to death instead of the Rebels. He had a presence she could not escape. It felt real. And then she'd heard the name, and shuddered.

_Lord Vader._

It still drove a chill down her spine, months after that little episode. The film was exciting, but Vader had stolen the show. She'd been glad that she had been Grown Up enough not to cry or wet herself every time she'd seen him on screen. And yet... and yet, she was curious about that figure. Part of her had reacted badly at seeing the figure on-screen telling her to _run away, it's a Dark Lord, run you foolish girl_, but she'd been too mesmerised by how real he felt even knowing he wasn't to even register the urge to flee. And so, that night, unable to sleep, she calmed herself down from the excitement of watching Star Wars for the first time by thinking about the powers these Jedi and Sith seemed to have. Like being able to find each other, or move objects across the room, or anticipate what was going to happen next and, in one case, talk to the living _despite being dead_. And then she was in her room at midnight, watching the summer night sky and dreaming about Jedi, spaceships and Dark Lords Of The Sith. And, like any child after seeing the film, she tried to emulate the Jedi by moving something, anything, around. She'd settled on a book and spent an hour trying to move it from her desk to her bed. She knew she couldn't do it, that it was impossible for her to have Jedi powers, it was all a silly fantasy she was engaging in before realising it was all fake and she could fall asleep, tired and disappointed yet with the knowledge it wasn't real.

She did it. Needless to say, she hadn't slept well for the rest of the summer. She stayed up, trying not to panic about being found by an empire she could no longer dismiss as being fiction. After all, it may have happened a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, but that just meant to her that they'd had time to get here. What would they do if they found her? Would she go the way of the Captain? Or Obi-Wan? Or would she be captured like Leia was, only for her rescue would never come. And so, in the dark, a little girl dismissed her fear and embraced that which she'd previously feared. She had powers. She was different. People would probably hunt her down when they found her, which could be at any time. She had to be ready. She had to train. And for that, she needed a partner. Someone like her.

And now here she was. The teacher had been speaking during her trip down memory lane, handing out a test to see if everybody could read and write. She completed the test, vaguely disappointed that none of the other children approached her, despite her trying to engage them. They weren't like her, something inside her could tell. _She was alone. She needed someone. She didn't want to die alone when the empire found her_. Despite her grim thoughts, she paid enough attention to the test to come first in class. It wouldn't do for her to slip, after all. Learning and learning well would probably be her only advantage.

* * *

_And here, my dearies, is where everything changes. The strange Star Wars fixation is forgotten as Hermione goes through her education finding nobody like herself. Harry claws his way through childhood, alone and unloved until a strange 8 foot tall, bearded half-giant kicks in the door. In most universes, Harry and Hermione only meet up in Hogwarts, or don't notice each other at their primary school, or go to completely different ones. In the mainline universe, their first encounter is on a train, for crying out loud. This one, however, born of happenstance, circumstance and the randomness of chance, is where they not only meet at a very young age, but where they meet each other just when they need someone. Harry is looking to learn, and Hermione is looking for a partner that _feels_ like her. In almost all universes, they meet and take their chances with Voldemort. This universe, however, this universe is different._

**Ah, the imagination of the young**

It was a rainy midday lunch break and the newly named Potter, Harry was running for his life again. When he had been stuck at home doing chores while his cousin went to Kindergarten, Dudley had ignored him. He was a nobody, after all. No friends, no toys to play with, almost no food... Ickle Duddykins could go on and on about how Freak deserved to be ignored. Oh, Dudley would do things to annoy Freak, but didn't actively need to seek him out. Freak was easy to find, after all. And pushing Freak down the stairs had stopped being fun years ago. But now, now it turned out that Freak had a name. That Freak could talk, read and write. That Freak could learn and, even worse, WANTED TO! Then again, Freak was a Freak, right? But now Freak was Potter, Harry. And Dudley stopped ignoring him.

What was worse was that today was Halloween. Potter, Harry hated Halloween, though he would be at a loss to explain why. He woke up feeling sad and normally did his chores whilst crying silently, never really understanding why. Or why even Dear Uncle left him alone on Halloween, though he looked angry about doing so. He couldn't cry in class. He would be looked at as a giant wuss. So he had to hold it in, which he did. Figg the Cat Lady had taught him to Be Polite And Keep To Yourself at a very young age. And to his relatives, any expression on his face other than obedience was rude. So he did the polite thing and didn't say or show anything. Without knowing it, he'd scared his teachers badly when they looked up to see him at roll-call, only to find a stone-chiselled mask with eyes full of pain staring back. When asked why he looked like this, he just said that he was having a bad day. He was getting very good at Keeping To Himself. It was never good enough to avoid Dudley though. The boy just wouldn't stop hounding him. He'd even roped his friends into his little game. Potter, Harry shuddered when he found out what the name of the game was; 'Harry Hunting'. He finally understood why no-one had claimed that name that first day. It was the name of prey for young Trolls who played with their food. He'd convinced himself, somehow, that Dudley would eat him alive, tearing him limb from limb as he ate his flesh, should he ever be caught before the bell rang. At least there were rules. In school, at the library or at home, he was safe. Anywhere else, he was food.

And so, convinced of his impending death, Potter, Harry ran as if propelled by the wings of fear. And he had only one safe place he could run to: the school library. He never ate in there, only recently Learning that most people apparently eat in the middle of the day, which baffled him. How did they keep from getting fat? The only people he'd seen eating lunch before were Dudley and Vernon, and they were huge. Cat Lady, Potter, Harry and Dear Auntie only ever had a slice of bread in the middle of the day. But anyway, apart from the baffling ability of his peers to eat lunch without getting fat, the library never let anyone but him and a few others in at midday. As today had been rather rainy so far, he expected about three or four people trying to shelter there until class started. Instead, he arrived at the library only to find it closed for lunch. Potter, Harry, never counting on the librarian having lunch given how skinny she was, started to panic. He could hear Dudley and his friends hungrily stalking him, silently jogging around the corridors trying to find and eat him. He needed to leave as soon as possible. A shadow fell over the entrance he'd just come through. Piers Polkiss was watching the front entrance to the small two-storey building. There were no other exits he could use without giving himself away when the fire alarm went off. He was trapped inside. With Dudley and two of his friends looking to eat him. He started panicking even as he made for the stairs that would take him to the upper floor. _Please, someone help me! I'll do anything, just help me live through this_!

Hermione felt something brush against her mind. Since discovering the Force, for she was now convinced that this was what she was doing, her quest to find a partner had been unsuccessful. None of the other children she'd approached felt like her at all. A few felt like they were being suppressed by something, a few others like they would probably be like her later on, but none of the groups, clubs, classes or study areas she'd looked into had anyone like her. After spending another disappointing morning sitting next to yet another disappointment, she'd huffed and gone to find a quiet area to eat her lunchtime fruit and force meditate. She'd found the force that flowed through her a few weeks ago, a connection to a raging torrent that she could hear, but not see during her meditation. She'd found her connection and, since then, tried pushing, pulling and prodding it to see how it would react.

This was the one bright spot of this whole affair, the thing that made her believe that having to train to survive, finding a partner and not telling her parents what she could do (for their own safety, should a Sith try to take the information from them) was worth it in the end. She'd discovered how to Push, Pull and See with the Force. Force sight was by far her favourite ability within the Force. She could see the swirls, colours and hidden power of the Force everywhere see looked. She also gained something her books called "precognitive abilities". Just like the Jedi, she could sense and feel what would happen next without her intervention. She could even use the sight to read a book blindfolded, the Force inherent to the ink being different than that of the pages of the book.

Though the force lines did tend to blur together when she tried that, forcing her to bend over the book to read it blindfolded. But it was still, according to her mind, Wicked Cool.

So she spent as much time as she could in Force Meditation, stimulating her connection to the force to see what else she could do. She could see the connection gradually grow stronger the longer she spent stimulating it, her connection to the Force making her ever more alert and aware of, well, everything around her. Obi-wan had warned Luke about that in a round about manner. Now she wished she'd paid closer attention to the old codger, since she could feel her young mind struggling to deal with the overwhelming amount of information the force was bombarding her with. She needed that partner soon. She knew she was overstepping her current limits as it was, and bringing someone up to speed with where she was would be perfect for her to learn to pace herself.

She sat down on the bench in the mess hall, finished her meal and made her way to the library building and science classrooms. Only a few people ever stayed there by choice for lunch, and almost nobody ever turned up at the library at lunchtime. She could meditate there in peace, undisturbed by the other, noisier and smellier children, and be in her afternoon science class way ahead of the others. Except this time, something had brushed up against her mind.

It had been a tiny, fleeting thing, something she was sure she would've dismissed outright as being a side-effect of her mind being overloaded by the sheer quantity of information she was forced to process through the larger connection. But she'd already prepared herself to enter the meditative state by clearing her mind of the influence of the Force before starting her trek up to the library. So it was... something else... She opened her mind to the Force. Immediately, her vision sharpened and the colours brightened. She could see the Force swirling around her, the raging torrent of rainbow colours that made up the sky, the deep blues, greens and yellows coming off the flora and fauna around her, the blacks and reds signifying other human beings, that weird copper-coloured dome rising above some house in a suburb a few kilometres from the school... And then she sensed a weird disconnect in the area, as if something were moving through the force itself rather than just through the physical world. She paid closer attention to the chaos left in the wake of that feeling. There it was, the swirling mist left behind... like when she'd used her connection to see if she could dump thoughts and feelings into the Force. To her mind, the eddies smelled of fear. And then she got it.

_A disturbance. Someone is creating a disturbance in the Force. And I can sense his fear and panic through it. _Despite knowing that something was going badly wrong for her fellow Force user, Hermione smiled. She'd finally found what she'd been looking for. A peer, hopefully a partner, dare she hope for a friend? Her walking speed slowly increased as her hopes and dreams for a future where she didn't have to worry about being hunted by the empire and dying alone filled her. By the time she went past a fellow first year standing at the entrance (a boy named Polkins or something, she remembered), she was running along the trail left by the panicking Force user, manifesting itself in her vision as a dark, tattered mist. When she reached the landing on the second floor, she found that she could hear his panicked plea despite still being dozens of metres away from the classroom the boy (the pleading sounded like it came from a boy) had hidden himself in. The Force was strong in him, she could feel the currents his emotions were stirring around her, seemingly driving back whatever is causing him to panic like this. She felt the Force trying to push her mind away from where he was (amazing! How does he do it?) and the closer she got, the more she had to keep herself from just turning around and forgetting about what was going on there. By the time she managed to open the door, her knees were buckling under the oppressive maelstrom of emotions the Force was dumping back out in the form of the mental equivalent of Force pushing. Finally, she was in the room and managed to exclaim before being driven to her knees by the storm she was trapped in.

"Hey!"

Potter, Harry had been trying to hide in the corner of the strange room he found himself in for the past ten minutes, trying to wait out his Hunters and praying for the bell to ring. It felt like his cupboard did, in some ways. It was dark, oppressive and with no space for him to hide from whatever or whoever came through the door. So when the door opened, Potter, Harry started crying for the first time in years. He'd failed to survive, they would probably start eating him before killing him, nobody would remember him... A girl stood in the doorway, visibly struggling to stay upright. She must be a fellow Hunted, she certainly looked like she'd just run for her life. But why was she in the same building as him? Had the Hunters ganged together and herded their respective kills into this area? Was the frenzy about to start? Icy fear curled its way up his spine, nausea manifesting itself as he thought of how he'd have to watch her die before they finished him off. Maybe watching that Discovery Channel documentary about sharks was not the smartest thing his science teacher had shown his class. He'd had nothing about morbid thoughts revolving around how his hunters and sharks were so similar that, maybe, they'd finish him off like in the documentary. He really hated it when Dudley decided to Learn too, and he'd watched that film with a devotion that had scared Harry witless. And now it seemed that his worst fears had been confirmed with the arrival of this exhausted girl. It would be nice to be able to talk to someone before the end, at least. None of the other kids could approach him without Dudley warning them to stay away from him. Which was alright with one Potter, Harry, given how the fat idiots his cousin hung out with would probably confuse him with the other child, putting an innocent on Harry's conscience. But this girl, she was doomed to the same fate he was. They were going to die. No reason not to speak to her. Waiting for death in silence was probably considered rude, anyway.

"Hey!"

At first glance, she thought that she'd stumbled upon a kindergarten escapee. Whoever this kid was, he was downright tiny for his age! But he was wearing the required uniform (black on dark grey) and point was that he had found himself in the library building, which was near the centre of the school campus and was not very accessible by the school's own students, let alone outsiders. So chances were he was a fellow student here too.

"Are they hunting you too?" Hermione just stared as the kid rocked back and forth, silently crying his eyes out in front of her. Baffled, she just asked "What?"

"You know, them. The Hunters. They've been hunting me every day, you know. During lunch break. Before roll call. After class. It never stops." That last was said in an almost silent whimper she would've missed if she hadn't started paying very close attention to him at that point. The way he said Hunters... The despair she'd heard sounded exactly like what she had imagined having agents of the empire after will be like in the hopefully far-flung future. She decided to do the first thing that came to mind. Moving quickly, she got close to him and hugged her fellow force user. She didn't miss the flinch.

"Hey, it's okay. I won't hurt you. Nobody will while i'm here, okay?" She could feel the background torrent finally settling down as her hug and low voice laced with the little force she was able to pull out of the vortex and control started to have a calming effect. "Really? So I won't be eaten today?"

This was one strange boy she'd found. "Err, why would anyone want to eat you? I mean no offence, but you would barely rate a snack to anyone hunting and eating little children." He gradually relaxed into her embrace, clearly wanting to believe her words.

"But Dudley called it Harry Hunting! Why else would he hunt me but not eat me? That's not like him. The only time he really makes an effort is when he's hungry, you know? I even saw him going to the kitchen during his favourite tv show once, just to get food!"

"Besides, boys taste bad. If he wanted to hunt and eat someone, it would have to be a girl. We taste nice." There, the boy was getting calmer now. The force was already overcoming the disturbance the boy's emotions had created. He was still scared, but he was almost calm now. Weird. How can you be scared and calm at the same time?

"So they won't eat me? Then why are they hunting me?"

"They're bullies. They hunt and scare kids for sport, but rarely do anything dangerous. That's why they're hunting you, so that they can torment you."

He snorted at that. "Dudley can do that anyway. It's not like I can stop him." Hermione was curious, just how had this mysterious Dudley acquired so much power over this kid? "And why is that?" The kid sighed, as if confessing to a grievous and unforgivable sin. "He's my cousin. I live with him, my Dear Aunt and my Dear Uncle." Wow. She could hear the capitals in that statement. Just what had they done to merit such treatment from their nephew? Looking at the tiny figure dressed in rags, she figured that when he did tell her that she wouldn't like it. "Ah, right. But hey, as long as i'm here, he won't hurt you, okay?" And that's when she felt a new emotion released into the room; suspicion. _I can feel emotions now, eh? This... could be useful._

He pushed himself out of the hug, his body language indicating that he was guarded and stressed. He finally raised his head and levelled the most beautiful set of green eyes at her that she'd ever seen. "And what exactly do you get out of this? Did Dudley or Piers pay you for this? To lure me out of here in exchange for keeping your pocket money, perhaps?"

Potter, Harry watched as the girl in front of him squirmed under his gaze, pain and frustrated irritation flitting across her face. Finally, she sighed and sat down on the floor next to him. "Tell me" she said, "what if I told you that I found you by following in your wake? That, despite the fact that you were hiding away from others, that I found you in under two minutes?" She turned to look at him. "I am alone. There is no-one else like me, not my parents, not the other children, not even the teachers that are like me, have the potential to do what I can do!" Her eyes dimmed at that, some of the passion he'd seen upon meeting her eyes for the first time leaving when she said the words. "Nobody else, except you. I found you because you are just like me. I followed your plea for help up here." He looked at her sceptically, confused by the sincerity and sheer belief the girl in front of her was giving off. She didn't seem to be lying, unlike Dudley who would try to sweet-talk him into getting food out of the fridge and then get him into trouble. He decided to see what she was talking about. "Okay, so what am I?"

"You're a Jedi. You have the power to use the Force, to connect to the world around you in ways you can't imagine. Just like I can. And I can teach you how to do it."

The kid just stared at her, his puzzled frown from a few minutes ago still not leaving his face. "And what is a Jedi? What is the Force? And can you really teach me?" She smiled to herself, she'd found her companion. Now to start his training.

"I can answer these questions and I can help you along. But first, what is your name?"

"Potter, Harry."

"Oh, so you're Harry Potter then? You were the one that came second in that last test out of the whole year, right?"

"What do you mean, Harry Potter? You got it backwards!" _Is he being stupid or is he joking?_ "What are you getting at? You just said you name. Your family name's Potter and your given name's Harry. Given name first, Family name second unless you're being roll called or in trouble. So your name is Harry Potter."

She could've sworn the kid say something about waiting for a better name to come up next time. Well. At least she wouldn't be bored...

"Hi Harry, my name's Hermione Granger. I am a force wielder, just like you. I can teach you so that you catch up to me soon enough, alright? As to what a Jedi is and what the Force is, it all started a long time ago in a Galaxy far, far away..."

"Huh."

Harry couldn't believe what the girl, Hermione, had just told him. Alright, he could, but it was just so... incredible. How could this 'Star Wars' film be real? How could Jedi exist? And the Force? What was it exactly? The description was so... vague, yet a part of him knew that there was something to this. Somehow, even just the vague allusions as to what the force was resonated with a part of him that he hadn't felt in five years. And yet he couldn't deny the evidence she'd provided when she levitated a desk and a chair and made them spin around slowly _right in front of him_. And she said that he, too, would be able to do that after a few hours of practice. Harry could hardly believe it. She'd only been here for ten, fifteen minutes and had offered him something invaluable.

But there was one thing that scared him. She kept referring to this empire and to someone she called 'Lord Vader', a Dark Lord of the Sith. How him and his empire actively sought out and killed people like her and him. How they'd had the time to get here, and were probably already in our galaxy looking to slay any potential Jedi. And how, if the story was to be believed, they'd built a space station the size of a moon capable of destroying planets in a single shot. By existing, the two of them exposed themselves and their very planet to the possibility of death. The only thing they could do for now was train and hopefully find out how to conceal their abilities from the agents of the empire or, even better, find a way to keep them out of their galaxy. Hermione said she had some ideas, but they all tied in with how well their training goes. And then she'd asked him if he wanted to train with her.

"Yes, I want you to help me become a true force wielder, maybe even a Jedi someday."

Hermione just smiled at him with those big teeth of hers.

"Great! We shall get started tomorrow after lunch, then!"

"Wait, you have lunch too?"

His new teacher/friend just looked at him oddly. "Of course, doesn't everyone?"

"It's just that – well..."

"Go on, spit it out."

"Well, I want to know... ?"

His new friend stopped for a moment, a faraway look in her eyes as she mumbled back what he'd said to herself before glaring at him with murder in her eyes.

"Did you just call me fat, Potter?" she hissed, the Force responding to her emotions.

"N-no, no! I did not! That's not what I was saying!"

"Then what exactly were you trying to say, Mr. Potter?"

"Nothing to worry about Miss Granger, nothing at all! I was just wondering, given that my or Aunt or I have never eaten lunch and that the only ones who do so at home are Dudley and my Uncle Vernon."

Hermione was reluctantly impressed by how polite Harry could be when he felt threatened. It was endearingly cute watching her new friend squirm after his little faux-pas. Still, he had asked a question, so...

"The idea is to eat well and exercise, Harry. Mom and Dad tell me that I should only eat what I need, not what I want. According to Mom, sweets stop tasting good if you keep eating them. Enjoy one every once in a while instead of watching your teeth fall out right now, she says."

"I wonder what it's like."

"What? Eating sweets?"

"Having parents. I don't care about sweets, since Dudley usually steals any I have. But what is having family like?"

_By the Force, that poor boy..._

She looked at the little boy sadly. Nothing she could say or do right then and there would make this any better, and the seven year old hated feeling powerless like this.

"Don't worry Harry. This, too, you shall learn in time."

A/N: hey hey, guess what? Yes, it's the prologue to an Evil Harry and Hermione. Hard to believe with all the childhood angsting here, isn't it? Hey, they're six right now, no child is Evil evil at age six (not even Riddle in canon, just a kid lashing out against his abusers). Don't worry though, this will be corrected as Harry gets semi-adopted by the Grangers (not full adoption though; Harry's not a pureblood, so bonking his adopted sister is out). As for why the hell I wrote a ten-page prologue filled with childhood fears turning into rock-solid belief in the protagonists' young minds, I blame two people: Stephen King and Star wars kid. Stephen King kinda inspired the children's fantasies spinning out of control and bringing out the horrific imagery in their young minds thanks to his awesome book. And Star Wars kid because what child would not start believing in Jedi if they got their hands on an actual light saber instead of pretending with a broomstick? Now imagine a bunch of magical children in the HP verse watching Star Wars at a young age, trying out the various tricks they saw on screen and finding out that they could so totally do these things? Would they consider themselves young Wizards or Jedi fledglings stuck on the wrong planet? Hmm, founding the Jedi order in fifth year, maybe? Mayhap if canon is followed, otherwise maybe... and yes, i'm evil. I'm writing a story in which evil people end up winning, in case you forgot.


	2. The formative years

Chapter 2: The formative years.

Disclaimer: I strive to write smart Dark Lords with a better agenda & motivation than to just kill people. The Harry Potter series features Tom Riddle. I clearly didn't write or own any licences for Harry Potter. My evil people are of the competent kind with a clearly defined outcome in mind. Harry Potter's evil people are none of these things.

A/N: And this is the last bit of massive exposition you're going to get, folks. After this, we get to the exciting bits full of blood, guts and intrigue. But I like to think that this piece will be okay until then. Hope you like it.

September 1st, 1987:

Hermione's meditation exercises (though she insisted on calling them Force meditations) worked well for Harry. He'd realised early on that when he concentrated on a single thing happening when he meditated, he could make it happen. It didn't matter what it was, as long as he could get his mind to see it happening. He'd taken that realisation and applied it to everything he now did. If he concentrated on maths hard enough, it was no longer hard. If he concentrated on English using the Force, it was easy. Anything he did, arts, sports, languages, physics, classical studies, he was the best when he concentrated on it. Or at least the _second_ best, always a step behind his teacher and friend. After she'd taught him the basics, she'd told him to keep practising until he no longer had to concentrate on what he was doing so much. The training did exhaust him rather quickly, often leaving him dizzy and tired despite having not done anything. Concentrating on not feeling tired anymore just seemed to make it worse, too. Though he was feeling a bit better now when he did it.

Again, that was because Hermione brought him food for lunch and told him that if he achieved something she wanted him to, she'd give him the food. She'd taken to slipping him snacks after Dudley started stealing his lunchbox with its one buttered toast in it. And after explaining to her parents that he was being bullied at school, Hermione's mom started packing him a nice lunch too! That was when her parents became his second best friends in the whole world.

It had been a lonely summer for him though. No school meant no Learning, no books, no Hermione, no after-school studying. He had taken to Force meditating and training his skills as hard as he could, day in day out, to drown out the loneliness he didn't want to feel. Chores, filching food whilst cooking, Gardening, he applied as much force to whatever he did as he felt he could get away with. He'd found that he could use the force to make himself stronger, faster, more alert and more observant. He could _feel_ the currents of the force flowing through him, even the warm feeling of that curtain of processed Force that Hermione said looked like a copper dome. It tasted like tin to his senses, and the sound it gave off sounded weak and off-tune. He'd soon found that, unlike Hermione, he was blind to the shape of the Force around him. However, he could hear, taste and feel it flow through him. He may not be able to see through a blindfold like Hermione could, but he could still navigate his way through a pitch-black room, instinctively trusting the force to guide him true. He could also shield his Force presence from his relatives, making his Force field disappear on command.

That was a skill that had saved him at the Dursleys when his grades came in. Had he not shielded himself from his relatives' sight using the Force to steal his report card, he had no doubts that they would have been angry at his grades. Dudley had gotten a passing grade. Harry had been second out of the entire school. Hermione had, predictably, been first. He couldn't help but feel that he'd dodged a pretty hefty bullet there.

There were other things that he sensed he could do through the force, like exploit what he felt were cracks, tunnels in the Force. He'd decided to wait until he'd talked to his teacher, Hermione, before trying them out. Those cracks in particular could be useful if he could control how to enter and leave them at will, but he would wait until Hermione deemed his Mastery of the Force to be sufficient before trying. He made a list of what he felt happening in the force around him, the sounds, tastes, occasional sharp metallic smells that came to him exploring the numerous and varied flows around Little Whinging. He then looked at that list every weekend, sketching out ideas and wondering what he could attempt safely. Flashy and dangerous things were out. However, that still left a lot of things that he could try and do with the opportunities his Force-sharpened wits could ferret out. So far, he'd managed to revive dead flowers in the backyard, he'd bent a small rivulet of the Force that ran underneath the flowerbed into the shape of water and held it for long enough to feed the plants, he'd made the entire house shine with but one pass through with the broom, he'd outrun Dudley scant seconds after sensing the boy's malevolence through the Force, running a hundred meters in under five seconds... Every week, he'd discovered and jotted down what he'd observed, what he thought this sound or that sensation meant in the Force, how he came to that conclusion and how he could exploit it.

And then he'd seen his best friend and teacher getting out of her parent's car this morning. He felt joy, happiness and a ton of new emotions he hadn't even felt through the Force before. When he came up to her, he'd hugged her hard. His happiness continued to mount as he felt her hug him back. He dumped the emotions into the force, allowing his friend to pick up what he was feeling. She gasped.

"Harry! Was that you?" He smiled at her surprised expression. "Why yes Hermione, yes it was." He still felt weird around other girls, but nothing like that even entered his mind when he looked at his best friend in the whole wide world.

"It's... beautiful, Harry." She seemed to be following something with her eyes. He guessed that those were the swirls and vortices his emotions had created as they interacted with the Force, strengthening both their connections to it for a brief time period. The bushy haired girl giggled a bit. "Harry, did you know that your emotions created a stag? It's prancing around, trying to hit Dudley in the butt with its antlers." _A stag? By the Force... why does it make me feel so happy to hear her say that_? And for a brief moment, he saw an outline of bright light appear at the edge of his peripheral vision before disappearing. "Harry? Harry, Earth to Harry. Come on apprentice, we're going to be late!"

Harry hurried after his bushy-haired friend and teacher, testing out his new title in the privacy of his own mind. And to him, it felt right.

October 31st, 1988:

There were no Jedi, no Sith and no Imperial agents that they had run across... yet. None of the meditations in the supplemental materials (books, games etc...) actually worked. Only the vague instructions given in the films actually seemed to work for them. It was incredibly frustrating. Both of them had felt the presence of Force users far away from where they were, but detected nothing but the intent to go about their daily lives through the Force. They were not good enough yet at perceiving others through the Force to try and make contact, either. Though both of them were good enough to sense whenever Dudley was in the area and hightail it out of there. It wouldn't do for Dudley to go tattling to the wrong people or, even worse, start blackmailing them using this information.

Not even a hint of the Empire's existence could be detected anywhere. Yet, they remained on alert, knowing full well of the emperor's treachery.

Did he not, after all, show what he truly was in the film? Did he truly expect a Force user to not pick up the flaws in seeing the Empire lose to a bunch of teddy bears? The emperor's way is the way of manipulation and deceit. It was clear, despite all the materials stating otherwise, that he won that battle. And even should he have died at the hands of his apprentice (and Harry still growled whenever he saw the treason on TV, though he understood why Lord Vader did what he did), the traitor himself still had the training and the skills to rule either alone or with his children at his side. There was no way the empire would lose. Hermione had been very much insulted by the implication that such a powerful force would lose to such a rag-tag resistance, Jedi or no Jedi. Such was his Master's judgement. Such would he believe until proven wrong.

She'd insisted he call her Master, actually. Saying something about how silly she felt when he'd tried to call her Mistress after watching the films. Still, she liked the title and so kept it, awkward connotations be damned.

Hermione and Harry gathered their study notes together, eager to get on with their schedule. Hermione had tested Harry's observations through her Force vision, corroborating some findings whilst refuting others. Her emotional control had become exceptional, allowing her to isolate which feelings got the best reactions when manipulating one aspect or another of the Force. She'd also figured out that Harry's interactions with the Force and hers were fundamentally different. She was more attuned to the shapes the Force took, while he was better at feeling out the Force itself. Both interactions had their drawbacks and benefits. For while Hermione could see the definite shapes that the flow of the Force took, Harry could feel what the Force was like under several different layers of the Force. Yet, she felt that the next stage of their training would only be able to be undertaken once they were both on an equal footing in terms of capabilities. They had to combine their powers.

So Hermione had proposed something that had shocked her apprentice to the core: that they guide each other through the various exercises the other undertook before interacting with the Force. After watching the films and reading whatever books he could get his hands on, Harry was very much aware of what the title of apprentice entailed. To call oneself an apprentice was to mark oneself as a member of the Sith in the eyes of the Jedi, as far as they could tell. And yet, the title _fit_. He could not deny that that was the title he _wanted_ to bear, since both him and Hermione were the only ones who could do what they could.

Yet nowhere did it say that an apprentice could _teach_ his Master. And she'd pointed out how much she'd learned by listening to his observations and his thoughts on what the Force could and couldn't do. That, maybe, they would _have _to learn together to achieve a higher level of understanding in the Force.

December 26th, 1988

It had been a long month and a half, but it was starting to pay off.

Both of them had come to understand that to connect to the Force was an almost purely mental effort. It required concentration and focus, and the larger the amount of force one channeled, the more exhausted the subject felt. Though even their exhaustion was different.

Hermione, by using more emotions to connect with the Force, was emotionally exhausted at the end of her sessions, unable to rouse either a cheerful or sad expression. She was just... blank at the end. It frightened Harry on the rare occasions that his Master had exhausted herself in front of him. Her face was more of a mask at that point than the face of his Master and best friend.

As for Harry, it wasn't rare for him to just keel over in a dead faint whenever his Master asked him to push himself to the limit. She'd panicked the first time that had happened in front of her. Her Apprentice had been lucky she hadn't Force Choked him when he explained that that was how he managed to fall asleep at night, though it was getting harder for him to use that technique to do so.

So, over the past month, they'd adopted each other's meditation style for testing. The early results were encouraging, if a bit worrying.

Hermione's emotionally enhanced Force connections often got out of control for Harry, who wasn't used to acknowledging emotions of any kind outside of those he shared with her. A simple effort to use regret to chill a glass of water through the Force had shattered the glass when the water turned into a massive ice block, for example. Using Pain to mentally focus on one topic led to the object he was staring at catching on fire. And the truly massive amounts of Hate he could conjure using mere memories frightened Hermione badly. Love was, arguably, even worse. She used love as a focus when she wanted things to blossom, grow, heal and come into their own. In the dead of winter at the Little Whinging Park, Harry's Love had made the entire place bloom as if spring had come before Winter had even set in. And the less said about how they'd used Loss, the better.

For Hermione, the use of Harry's techniques was just as successful yet oddly frustrating. Harry had layered his techniques, one on top of the other, as his powers grew. As a result, Hermione had to fully master every single Force meditation technique and ability in sequence before proceeding. Patience had never been Hermione's strong suit when it came to learning new abilities, especially as she compared it to just how much easier it would be for her to just use emotions to do this. In response, Harry had dumped the emotions of Frustration, Anger and Disappointment right into a Force Stream that ran between the two. She'd been in awe, if slightly intimidated by the way he'd chosed to scold her for her uncharacteristic petulance. Afterwards, Harry had made a point of explaining that he'd spent a year mastering what she had achieved so far.

And now was the first time the two were going to test their progress.

"Alright Harry, try again." Harry closed his eyes, his entire being disappearing into the Emotional Force meditation techniques Hermione had taught him. His task was to locate the Force without using his Force feeling abilities. This was the second day of his 'sleep-over' at Hermione's. He'd started this exercise the night he had arrived, and was still at square one. But Hermione's Apprentice was nothing if not patient and methodical. So he closed his eyes again, cleared out his thoughts, and guided himself through the Force Meditation, focusing various emotionally charged pulses of the Force through where Hermione had explained his optical nerve should be. He thought he felt something-_damn it! No sensations!_ He lost control of his emotions, suddenly dumping massive amounts of frustration and weariness directly into the focus of his conscience. And he finally saw a dim outline of the room around him through closed eyes. Something broke at the back of his mind, unleashing a torrent of Force through a connection he hadn't even known he'd had. Pretty soon, a massive wave of positive emotions rushed through a now open pathway, each wave increasing what he could see through his closed eyes. It... felt incredible.

"Hermione, I can see! I can finally see!" he felt like laughing, crying and dancing all at the same time. He opened up his other senses to full capacity, completely immersed in a world nobody but him could truly be a part of. And pretty soon, he would get Hermione to follow him there.

Hermione just stared at Harry. She'd expected him to fail yet again at entering Force vision, preparing herself to offer him the encouragement & comfort a good apprentice needed to succeed and a good friend needed from another. She'd felt him get angry with himself, the small whisps of emotion being channelled unconsciously into the Force starting to multiply and rage out of control. Then, it seemed like the very Force itself caught on fire in front of her. The amount of strangely coloured tendrils that'd blasted through and connected to the Force was staggering. What was shocking, though, was that those tendrils had nothing to do with his emotions. Rather, they anchored themselves to his _body_.

And then, two things happened in rapid succession. First, that weird-looking scar that seemed to be almost like an anti-Force field in her vision... vanished. Just poof, a strange scream, a cloud of smoke and the anti-Force field was gone. Second, his skin and hair started strobing through colours. He stopped dancing and looked at his gawking master and best friend, her shock tattooed across her face.

"Is something wrong, Hermione?" She didn't know what to say.

January 1st, 1989

Hermione's turn had been slightly belayed by the Christmas spirit. Harry's meditation style was heavily slanted towards what she understood to be the ways of the old Jedi order. She'd broken it down into a three-fold path to success: objectivity, persistence and focus. Whatever you did required absolute focus and dedication to achieve the first time, then got gradually easier the more you trained with whatever you set out with. And Christmas is not the best of times for a young girl to have to concentrate, especially when her Apprentice was still busy simultaneously exploring and ruthlessly imposing control on his body's new connection to the Force. But today was morning of New Year's day, and her parents were unlikely to wake up long before noon, so now was the time for her to finally accomplish something that her Apprentice had achieved after mere months of study.

No, she wasn't jealous at all, of course not. And if she kept telling herself that, maybe she would be able to ignore the reality of it. Still, if she wanted to emulate Harry and gain a Force connection for her body, the first step was to be able to feel the Force flowing through the area. It did not help that her sight was telling her all about just how disruptive Harry's Morphing abilities were to the flows of the Force around them. The normally placid Force lake she could see in her room looked more like a storm-swept sea nowadays, with massive flows suddenly changing direction without any warning at all. She could swear she heard Harry giggling when that happened. This was starting to annoy her. _Okay, focus girl._

She deliberately did the hardest thing at the beginning of the exercise, namely cut off her Force vision and dump all the negative emotions into where she'd memorised a Force rivulet to be beforehand. She then extended a tendril of the Force and started probing the area. It was hard, reining in her emotions and avoiding the normal shortcuts her abilities allowed her to take. That was part of the reason she required absolute concentration when doing this. One unconscious slip-up and she would have to do it all over again. Not because she really had to, but because she knew taking a shortcut in this would result in her abilities being less than they could have been to her.

Harry's way required a complete understanding of what was going on before mastery could be declared. And Hermione had spent a month ploughing through the exercises without any shortcuts at all, all in an effort to completely understand what was going on. She understood perfectly how to relate to the Force, blindly connect to it by drawing it to you, how to channel it through the desired parts of your body and how to combine tendrils into a single, multi-layered tendril of the Force. She'd been fascinated by the technique ever since Harry had shown her the previous year. Their studies were slow, given that they still attended school and did what kids did, but they were really good at what they did. Which meant that everything they'd learned in three years could be learned by a dedicated Force user in under three months. They had a long way to go still before being even remotely ready. And this was a true test of just how good she was and how well she would be able to defend herself when the Emperor showed his hand.

Harry's best friend and Master sat there, probing around for a connection of some sort. He could see just how much work she'd put into building the tendril of raw, focused Force. It was a true work of art, that one. Whenever he sent out a multi-layered probe, he tended to make it fairly simple, with three or four layers rather than what he was seeing there. Her probe was _prehensile_! The damn thing was so heavily layered, she could twitch her thumb and the probe would veer to the left or right. He could see what looked for all the world like muscles about the fifth layer in, the small tendrils moving the rest of the tail whenever their size expanded or contracted. She'd created an extra appendage rather than a probe! Interesting, he'd try that out later. First though, he was going to help Master along for a bit.

Hermione gasped as a sensation rippled down from her probe. She'd touched something! Or rather, something had touched her. Was still touching her. Guiding her... _By the force_! She jumped as if she'd stuck a fork in an electrical outlet, the sheer power she'd felt through the probe almost giving the 10-year-old girl a heart attack. She angrily opened her eyes and hissed "_APPRENTICE! What was that, _exactly?"

Harry just smiled that infuriating half-smile he gave her when he was being a prat. "Why Master, I just helped you along". "And how, exactly, did you do that?" "Why, by stuffing that beautiful probe of yours into the Force that seems to have piled up on your floor in a big, chaotic mess my dear."

Her jaw clenched upon hearing that. By the force, had enough of the Force trickled up the probe, it would have knocked her out cold. She was about to explode when Harry raised his hands. "Before you say anything Master, why don't you go through the exercise again?" Scowling at him, Hermione ran through the meditation exercises again before opening herself up to the probe. And gasped.

"Harry, is this what the Force feels like to you?" He looked at his oldest friend, her shoulders shaking as she cried out of joy. "It sounds so... beautiful! It feels... it feels..." Something... swam into view. Playing around in the flow of the Force was an Otter, glowing brighter and brighter as Hermione kept staring at it. And then his stag came out and started playing with the otter. He barely even noticed his hair acquire red and green tips, the two colours he associated with happiness. "Look, Master. It's your avatar of happiness. From now on, you'll be able to see it around you when you are happy and using Force sight."(A/N: feel the schmaltz. Feel it.)

January 2nd, 1989

"Alright Harry, it's time we stepped up our training."

Harry didn't look up from the TV show he was watching. He'd come to realise that he loved science fiction shows... a lot. Funnily enough, he preferred Star Trek to Star Wars. Hermione just said that optimists and realists preferred Star Trek, but cynics and pessimists preferred Star Wars. "And what are we to do Hermione?"

"We are going to learn how to fight with our bodies and with swords, of course." Somehow, Hermione's evil smirk became more pronounced. Harry got out of the couch and faced her.

"Are you kidding, Hermione?" Harry shouted. "Do you know how dangerous that is? You could get hurt!" Hermione sneered at her student.

"And I have had enough of your excuses, _apprentice_! The reason we are doing this is so that _you_ can finally learn how to control your body without having to focus on the force every damn second in the day. It is driving me mad, having to repeat myself over and over again just to get you to do simple things for me. So either we do this training or I stop teaching and helping you, you hear me? I will not tolerate insubordination from you on this matter. _Is that perfectly understood?_"

Harry, knowing what was expected of him, dropped to his knees and bowed. "Yes, my Master."

Her ugly expression turned into one of self-satisfaction as her anger started to dissipate. "Good, good. Now go get dressed, Mom wants to take us out for lunch and I want to finally see you wearing decent clothing."

Still bowing, Harry intoned "yes, Master" before getting up and heading for the guest room.

"And don't dawdle! I will know if you do!"

"Yes Master!"

Hermione smirked. Being the Master had its perks.

February 14th, 1989

Harry looked around, his instincts telling him something wasn't right. Ever since the confrontation between him and Hermione over learning how to fight, Harry had been attacked once a day by his Master. Though they'd started on a roughly equal footing thanks to the Force Channelling trick he'd taught her and the Rage amplifier the two had discovered, Hermione had quickly pulled ahead of him in both martial arts and swordfighting. It just wasn't fair. Within a week of her starting to ambush him, he had lost every engagement he'd had with the girl. Hell, one of the times that she'd gotten sloppy and counter-ambushed her, he still hadn't come close. Now, he was spending the majority of his nightly Force channelling time focused on the memories of his encounters with Hermione, trying to figure out what her style was. After reading through a bunch of martial arts and swordfighting books, it became apparent that she was trying out a new technique every time she ambushed him. And she was pulling off the moves perfectly every time. How did she do that, exactly? And just how many fighting styles were there? That was a question for another day.

Whenever the two fought each other, it was either in a secluded area or in the park. In secluded areas, they merely used their bodies and a small amount of force to prevent injuries. In the park, however, they fought using solid wooden training swords. When asked, she'd said that her father Kyle had been an avid swordfighter when she was little. Both them and the swords had a substantial amount of Force kneaded into a protective barrier for both sword and swordsman. Only, due to the surprise attacks, Harry had often started with a handicap early on, when the shield didn't go up on time. Nowadays, he was prepared for it anywhere. There was even that one time where she'd grabbed his arm and displaced the two of them onto the main building's roof, where they promptly engaged each other in a Force and Fists duel. Apparently, the roof was still dented and leaking in places. And today, he'd positioned himself perfectly for the counter-attack.

He set off a Force Pulse, instantly tagging any Force-imbued object that was in the area, invisible or not. And another, checking relative positions of said objects against his enhanced memory. And then the final pulse, which isolated the one object that had moved during all three pulses. It was heading towards him. _Game on_. He summoned the sword from invisible Hermione's grip, pulling the hapless brunette along with the sword. Cursing, she let go of the sword and flung herself to the side, only to find herself being hugged by her Apprentice. "Happy Valentine's Day, Hermione. Would you rather be my Valentine or my Master today?"

Her eyes widened, then smiled at the apparent non sequitur. He was so cute when he did something like this... wait, where'd that come from? "Valentine, Harry. I want to spend Valentine with you."

He smiled at her. "Thank you! You really are my best friend, you know?"

After which she'd picked up the sword and whacked him over the head with it. "Ouch! Hermione, what was that for?"

"Well Harry, that is for thinking you could get out of fighting. Tomorrow, we are going to have two fights, is that clear Potter?"

Harry gulped. "Clear Miss Granger ma'am."

"Good, now hug me, you big doof."

September 19th, 1990

"Come on, fight harder! I know you can, Harry! Last week, remember?"

"Sorry Master, just getting over a bit of trouble from yesterday."

"Oh, what was it?" Harry sighed. "They got a call from the principal last night, asking why they'd never signed my report cards. They found out about my marks. I only found out about them knowing after they caught me Displacing into the back yard."

Hermione winced. Despite being provided with sufficient food and space to be the kid he was by her and her parents, it was hard for Harry to accept that his relatives would never love him because of his use of the Force. He still held out hope that they would one day turn around and accept his as a son, at least acknowledge the fact that they were family. He'd confided in her that every time he saw Kyle and Sarah Granger he had a hard time not calling _them _Mom and Dad since they returned any affection he displayed, although not as much as either of them would like. To them, he was still Hermione's weird little friend, the two having decided that telling her parents about the full story of Harry's daily life was only going to make things worse. "How bad?"

"Had to mind-trick them after forcing them to sign the report cards. Nothing too bad, but..." And there was the awkward pause. She _hated_ awkward pauses. "So, are you looking forward to this year?" _Oh yeah Harry, real smooth_. "It's just the usual, Apprentice. And maybe I should teach you how to change subjects more subtly, given that I am now tempted to ask about the 'but'." Harry kept his face blank in the face of her threat, blatantly unimpressed by his Master attempting to force a conversation. "Why yes Master, I would be glad to learn how to change subjects smoothly". _Ha._ "Good, now fight me!" He sent a quick stab of force lightning her way, the flash and crackle of the electricity wasting itself against her Force-hardened training Katana. "I see you are getting better Apprentice. That effort almost left scorch marks on my blade. My turn!"

She Displaced herself behind him, Pushing him in the back as she finished swinging herself into a defensive stance. He rolled around in mid-air, launching himself sideways before he even landed. A muffled Boom echoed from the spot he was supposed to land on, smoking debris spewing everywhere. Upon landing, he slammed his hand into the ground and _pulled _on something only the two of them could see. Cursing, Hermione jumped up as a literal tidal wave of Force washed over where she was standing. As she reached the apex of her climb without descending, she realised that he'd trapped her in a stasis bubble. Tricky bastard. Now normally, there wouldn't be any way for her to overcome her predicament, as a stasis bubble grows stronger the more Force it comes into contact with. But Hermione could siphon the Force out of objects to a certain degree. It was probably enough to destabilise her stasis bubble. At any rate, it was the only way out. So she sucked up some of the bubble's force for herself, the bubble disintegrating with a lout 'pop', only to see her apprentice accelerating upwards towards her, perfectly positioned on top of a massive burst of the Force, training sword ready for the killing blow. She slumped.

"Stop! Alright Harry, you win this one." Even as they both fell gently back to Earth, Harry cheering as he went along, Hermione extended her senses to see if anyone had seen through the Force shield. She sighed. She had watched for five years for any sign of other Force sensitives catching them or even normal people wondering where all the weird noises came from. She and Harry had found that Force wielders did exist here, as they'd inadvertently sensed a few wandering around here and there. They could never figure out who they were, though. The two were always a bit too late, or they found that the fellow wielder had displaced him or herself using the cracks in the Force. There had even been one case where they'd sensed a fellow Wielder, but hadn't seen him. The Wielder had somehow disappeared from view without shielding himself from the Force! But today, they only picked up on a Wielder. _Hang on..._ She Pulsed again. This time, the tone she received back was louder. Whoever they were, they were moving in her direction. She landed, turning to her friend and Apprentice of almost five years.

"Harry! Extend your senses, there's a Wielder coming closer to where we are." Harry frowned, extending an area Probe (a new type of probe he'd developed last year, covering an entire area rather than a single point) and then targeting the conscience he detected.

"Hmm. The mind is almost like a cat's on that one. She's coming here, she has something to announce. It seems that her subject is... you."

There was a couple of seconds' worth of silence. "I guess it wouldn't hurt to hear what she'd have to say, would it?"

He cocked his head to the side, straining to listen to something very quiet. "No Master, not according to what I can hear from her mind."

"Then go get Mom and Dad. It seems we have a guest."

A/N: And there you have it folks. Chapter 2, major snippets of how Harry and Hermione train together over the years and how they form their master/apprentice relationship. Next chapter-everything up until after their first week at Hogwarts. Bear in mind that that's a full year's worth of stuff... Anyone else feels that it's weird, how McGonnagall manages to visit Hermione on her birthday, September 19th, which happens to be in the middle of the second busiest time of the year for a school? Just saying. Oh, and i've also got a new fic up that has Harry Potter and Cat People in it. Check it out if you're bored.


	3. Minerva's Big Day part1

Chapter 3 – Minerva's Big Day, part the first.

_A/N: So it took me a while to write this. Just a coupla hundred words, I thought. Not gonna be too big, I thought. That was two weeks and several dozen edits ago. But I am kinda happy with the result; conveying the chaos of having two parents with medical degrees and two children that know they are special meet up with someone that nixes all their cool interpretations and goes straight for the hocus-pocus is really fun, especially when everyone's too busy wrapping their heads around each other to care about trivial concepts such as 'tact' or 'sanity' is an utter blast. This time, things get... more interesting than usual, too. All I can say is, poor Minerva.. Oh, and i'll be correcting the mistakes I make writing this in the next month or two. Right now, i'll settle for writing the first parts through first._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. _My_ Dark Lords would never settle for Earth alone or use a small, inbred minority to eventually go up against a majority that outnumbers their total combat force by 6 million to one...after initially defeating a population that outnumbers their forces by a 'mere' 20 to 1... in the UK alone. Mine aim for total domination of space rather than a mere planet and take pains to focus their subjects' hatred on one specific minority that it is easy to hate, namely the aforementioned inbred, rich and snobby racists._

* * *

Fate is a strange thing to dwell upon. After so long teaching children and people supposedly old enough to be adults about everything from manners to how to turn a button into a battle tank, she'd become something of an expert at reading children.

She'd met shy children, boisterous children, spoilt brats and abused alley rats bearing the same message; you are special. There are others like you. I can do it too, see? And I can teach you.

Most of the time, their reactions told her just where these children would likely end up come sorting day.

It was fairly reliable too: wide-eyed and excited tended to signify Gryffindor, curious yet open was a Hufflepuff reaction, suspicious curiosity screamed Ravenclaw and a cold, calculating stare was just such a Slytherin expression to wear. Though not many muggleborns made it into Slytherin, the house did not tend to kill them until after graduation day, a fact which she was thankful for.

Now, belligerent indifference was unexpected. A mocking smile was a new reaction too. Simmering anger, as if having their expectations grievously betrayed, was more of a pureblood rather than a muggleborn reaction. These two were an enigma. What would the sorting hat decide when the time came? For once, Minerva believed that only providence held the answer to that question. Pondering the fate of two children was a rather odd think to dwell upon too much...

"Magic." the cute girl with curly brown hair repeated with a frown, holding the letter as if it had just killed her pony. "Just what are we talking about here? Magic missile, perhaps? Is there a questing class that we have to attend? Do I need to make a character sheet or do I get my own when we get to the castle? Ooh, how much xp do I get for weeding the garden?"

She could hear the snort from the little boy in the corner. Though most of what the little girl had just said may have gone over her head, teachers had instincts for such things. And the two seemed to be relishing her discomfort.

"I assure you, miss Granger, that magic _does_ exist. Both you and your friend in the corner can do it, as you demonstrated when I arrived." Having her magic probed by one child's magical core had been a novel experience, though one she heard other teachers talking about later. Being pinged by two magical cores, though, that was unheard of.

"So you felt that?" The little girl asked, most of her contemptuous gaze shifting into a calculating stare. "That's the first time that has happened in quite a while, you know. Most people don't even realise it when I sense them out." The boy in the corner perked up at that, his blue-green eyes narrowing in the shadowy corner. Minerva gasped as she felt an odd pressure coming from the base of her neck. _ What was that? It's unlike anything i've ever felt before._

"Harry, stop that!" The girl snapped, turning around to face the boy. "It's impolite to pulse directly into other people's force connections, you know that!" "Sorry, Hermione. Didn't mean for it to be that strong." "Don't do it again, understand?" "Yes, m-Hermione." Minerva stared at the little figure hiding in a shadowy corner.

"What were you doing, young man?" Her tone was curious, if a little tense at the unexpected intrusion. "Oh, nothing much really. I just wanted to test your connection to the Force to see what made you able to feel our scans. It's a pretty big connection. Bigger than ours, at least.".

Minerva smiled at the two children, desperately trying to come up with the right thing to say. Well done at mastering an Auror-level skill? Don't you ever do that again, young man? Where did you learn to do that? What else can you do? "Why thank you, Harry. Ask before doing it again next time, okay? As Hermione said, it _was_ rude of you." _Well done, old girl. Here, have a pat on the back for being diplomatic to a ten-year-old._ The little boy's eyes didn't change position. His face was still shrouded in shadows, just like it was when she'd entered the room. "Sorry ma'am" Well, at least he'd sounded sincere to her. She then looked at the girl again, why was busy muttering as she read her supplies list.

The girl turned to Minerva. "I assume that you know where we can get these things?" The old Lady smiled at the young girl. "Good deduction skills indeed, miss Granger. Since all muggleborn need as much time as possible to acclimate themselves to the Wizarding World, i am here to both bring your letter and offer to act as a tour guide for both you and your parents."

The girl nodded at the older witch. "Harry, can you go get my parents please?" Harry went to go ask Sarah and Kyle to come down, please. There was an odd sense of deja vu when she saw the small boy hurry out of the room, almost like she'd seen someone that looked just like him before...

"Professor, I want you to promise me something." The girl was looking at Minerva with an odd sort of intensity "And what would that be, Miss Granger?" "Today, when we go to Diagon Alley, can you please make sure Harry's alright? He's very nervous around adults, and he's going to have enough trouble with what's happening today without having to cope with his new surroundings."

Minerva blinked. Again, another odd occurrence around these two... "And why do you think that will be necessary, miss Granger?" The child's jaw clenched. "Harry suffers from mild agoraphobia. He gets very nervous with open areas or places with lots of people around. He often complains about people looking at him weirdly whenever we are out in the open too. Please look after him"

The old witch felt her teachers' instincts throw up a red flag. "Of course I will, dear. If you don't mind, do you have an idea of why Harry has this problem?"

There was a look of pure anger on the girl's face for a moment, quickly replaced by a blank expression. "Harry's relatives. I do everything I can, but no matter what me, Mum and Dad come up with is not enough to go to social services. The best I could get on those bloody Dursleys is that they make Harry sleep in a cupboard and don't provide lunch for school."

Dread. Minerva had felt it a number of times in the last thirty years, well enough to recognise that the information that she'd just been given implied something... Bad. But what was it that had triggered that?

_Agoraphobia, no. Social Services, not really. Ineffective help... Dursley. Where have I heard that name before? Dursley, Dursley, _Dursley,_ oh no, please tell me i'm wrong-_

"Hermione, what's your friend Harry's family name?"

Hermione felt a weird vibration in the Force coming from the 'witch'. _God, how can Force wielders be so backward as to label something magic?_ She looked at the old lady with concern. Today was a day of firsts for her. The first Force wielder outside of herself and Harry that the two had met. The first time they were told about this 'magic' thing. The realisation that their little spiel had resulted in the maintenance of an entire _hidden society parralel to the legitimate one_. It boggled the mind. Now, though, Hermione had found another first. The old woman had lost control of her emotions and was dumping what tasted and looked like raw fear and apprehension into the Force Stream as if dispensing party favours. This was annoying, as she felt some of it trickle through her connection too, tainting the flow as it drove through her. And now that question. "Madame, are you alright?" She didn't look it, far too pale for her skin tone to be healthy in Hermione's opinion.

"Just answer the question please" "Well-"

"My name is Harry Potter." A voice said from the doorway. "And why do you want to know that, professor?" To the astonishment of the kids, the witch fainted. Just as the parents walked through the door.

"What have you two done now?" Kyle asked, curious as to why someone that looked as hard-bitten as Minerva would faint at a mere name. "You didn't spike the tea again, did you darling?" Sarah Granger asked her shocked daughter.

* * *

Minerva woke up to find a bottle of something... _rank_ stuck under her nose.

"See, she's awake now! Told you it would work." a man in his mid-thirties said to a woman around the same age.

"I still say we should have let her system deal with the shock first. You know what extreme stress does to older people, Kyle. Lord knows we've seen it often enough." The man rolled his eyes at the woman's words. "Yes, we've seen it often enough. And you said she'd only need another five before she woke up by herself, so I figure we wake her now and give her fifteen minutes to calm down..." "But Kyle-" "No buts Sarah, she'll be fine".

The woman that looked a lot like an older, plumper Hermione with straight hair just stared at her husband. "Alright, but it's your problem if this happens again, got it? I am not losing my practitioner's licence over this." The man snorted. "Relax woman, I know what I am doing." "You're a _dentist_. Nothing to do with treating shock-induced trauma." "That's right, i'm a _dentist_, just like you. This sort of thing happens to me all the time, don't worry." "Maybe I _should_ worry, because _my_ patients sure as hell don't pass out on a regular basis." "Oh, and what about last Monday then? Or did I just imagine that Polkiss kid out like a light-"

Minerva coughed politely. This sounded like good-natured banter, but she really didn't have all day. "Excuse me, wouldn't you be Sarah and Kyle Granger, by any chance?"

"Oh sorry professor..." "McGonnagall. Minerva McGonnagall." Kyle grinned at the old lady in the strange dress. "Oooh, a fellow James Bond fan." "Who?" "... Never mind." the woman said, shooting a reproving glare at the man. "And yes, my name is Sarah Granger and that is Kyle Granger, my husband. Why are you here?"

"Magic." The witch said bluntly, smiling at the blank look on the parents' faces. "More accurately, the fact that your daughter can do magic." Again, just a blank look. "Look, have you noticed your daughter getting into, let's say, strange situations? Odd things happening around her and her friends, perhaps? Floating objects, things changing colour, ring any bells?"

"Sure, some weird things happened when she was younger, but her grandma set us straight." _Ah, this will make things _much_ easier... _"She's got ESP." _Or not._

"ESP? Is that some kind of muggle disease?" Kyle just looked at her, cleared his throat and proceeded to show just where Hermione's attitude came from"Honestly, has no-one told you this before? It stands for extra-sensory perception. She can do things like move small objects, bend spoons and predict small events in the future. It's all very exciting, really. And so much more believable than _magic_." Minerva just stared at the young man that was lecturing her about muggle rationalisations of magic whilst insulting her intelligence. Sarah slapped her husband upside the head. "Kyle Cameron Granger! How dare you be so rude to that poor befuddled old lady? Apologise to the poor dear right now!"

_Right, that's it._ And Minerva proceeded to do the only thing that she thought would redress this insult to her very nature; she turned the coffee table into a Pony whilst pinning the two muggles down with a Severus-worthy glare. Hermione and Harry could only stare. They could see, even in the Force, that this was an actual bloody Pony. She'd somehow _twisted_ the Force surrounding the table and in the table itself into the shape of a Pony, and it'd turned into a small, horse-shaped creature that was sniffing the decorative flowers with interest. Whoever this lady was, she was scarily good. The two adult Grangers just stared at the glowering witch.

"Now listen here, you two. I am not, as you call it, a befuddled old lady. Nor is magic any more unbelievable than this Espee you hammered on about." There was a short silence while the Grangers stared at the miraculously appearing Pony, which was eating Sarah's potted plants and peeing on the living room carpet during this little speech. "My name is Minerva McGonnagall, deputy headmistress and transfiguration teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and I am here to deliver your daughter her acceptance letter to said school, which happens to be the best magical school in all of Europe. Now, I am willing to ascribe your family's blatant rudeness to the fact that what I am telling you is just too plain unbelievable for people as _open-minded_ as yourselves to accept, so let's start over again."

She breathed in, reversed the table-Pony transfiguration, vanished the mess and cast an accelerated growth charm on the surviving plant life. "Hello, my name is Professor Minerva McGonnagall and I am here to talk to you about your daughter" she said, stretching a hand out to Kyle Granger. "Hello." "You made a Pony appear in my living room. A messy Pony. All gone now..." he said, shaking the hand with a frighteningly vacant expression on his face. "Quite. Sarah Granger, I presume?"

The woman blinked, shook herself and offered the older woman a weary smile while shaking her hand. "Indeed, Professor. You have to excuse my husband. His mind does not deal with changes in reality that well." "Really?" "Quite. You should have seen him after I asked him to marry me rather than the other way round. Poor dear didn't snap out of it for a week!" That certainly explained a number of things to the professor. "Truly? Will he be alright?" "Oh, oh yes, don't worry! He married me after he resumed normal operations, so this will work out just fine." Minerva relaxed. "Good, then. That is rather reassuring news to me, so I will just finish talking to you about a few things, then we can all go to Diagon Alley to introduce you all to the magical world."

And so Minerva and Sarah talked about Hogwarts, magic and what future Hermione could expect after her magical education. Then came the muggle sales pitch. "Of course, a lot of muggleborn decide to go back to the mug-normal world after graduation" Minerva declared. "We have an entire Ministry department dedicated towards providing whatever is needed for them to transition back into normal society". Sarah visibly relaxed "That's good to know. Will her post-magical education be covered by this as well?" "Oh yes, definitely!" Minerva smiled. "Why, we will assist her in catching up to normal education standards afterwards. She will even get to go to University through Ministry sponsorship if she wants to."

Even Hermione perked up at that. "Really? You'd pay for my tuition?" "And living expenses for the entire span of your muggle education, dear. After all, wizards and witches are magical Britain's most valuable asset. We look after our own." The deputy headmistress then discovered another oddity; an eleven-year-old girl that _squeed_ at the idea of more school. Definite Ravenclaw material, especially with the rudeness factor there.

And little Harry, sitting quietly in the corner of the couch, had paid more attention after learning about that as well. For the first time, he spoke up."And me, professor? Will I get to go too?". Suddenly, Hermione deflated. "Harry, I haven't even said yes to going yet. I mean it sounds great and i'd really like to go, but it's _magic_. I couldn't really find out what it really is without talking to my faithful student about it, now would I?" Though the phrasing was... odd, Minerva felt, she couldn't deny the way Harry's smile lit up at her words. "Thanks, Hermione!"

Hermione turned to the professor, face set into a perfectly serious expression. "What pre-requisites would Harry need to fulfil to come with me, Professor?" The old witch chortled "Well, he'd need to be a wizard first. Then he'd need to turn eleven before August the first of next year and he'd need to have the consent of his guardians-" Sarah and Hermione winced at those words while Harry's smile fell.

"The Dursleys." Sarah muttered. "Of course it'd be up to the _Dursleys._"

"Actually, it isn't. You see, Harry's parents were wizards themselves, and Harry's been registered to attend Hogwarts since the day he was born. Only his magical guardian could actually intervene and stop the lad from going, but trust me when I say that that would be unlikely to happen at best. And based on the display those two have put up today, I would say that Harry is definitely getting his letter sometime soon."

Harry's face went numb from shock. _My parents were Force users? I can go to... Hogwarts, what a funny name... with Hermione? _

"Harry? Harry, stop ! You're losing control again." He started at the unexpected voice and touch on his shoulder. He looked at his teacher and friend, the joy of actually having options other than Stonewall and the Dursleys shining through the Force and infecting the stream around them. He quickly throttled his connection before his connection dumped the truly massive amounts of emotion swelling through him into such a closed space. "Whatever you decide, i'll be right there Hermione."

"Good, because i've decided that we're going to accept. Think of it, Harry! We have a whole new world to explore. We no longer have to hide our research, or our training-"

"Wait a moment. What have you two been up to?" A slightly apprehensive Sarah asked the duo. "Well, we've discovered that we are able to do... things, cool things. It took a while, but we've been exploring and mastering more and more cool abilities that help us do stuff." "We've got like these cool comic book powers! And Force powers, too!" An excited Harry chimed in. "Watch this! I can fly, you know." And then he proceeded to levitate himself off the ground. Both Minerva and Sarah fainted at the sight.

* * *

"Err princess, why is mommy out cold?" "Oh, Harry just decided to _fly around the bloody room without warning me_!" Kyle could tell when his little princess was angry with someone. He just sighed in naked relief at the fact that he was not involved and decided there and then to keep it that way. "Ah, so I _am_ hallucinating. Hermione, love, can you look after Mom for me? Daddy's off to have a nap and burn off whatever was in that coffee he had this morning." And so Kyle Granger left his unconscious wife, the strangely dressed old lady who was also sprawled on the floor, his furious-looking daughter and her embarrassed friend to deal with whatever had happened. Turns out that being vulnerable to sudden paradigm shifts made for a handy excuse. Who knew?

"I'm really sorry" a sheepish-sounding voice said from somewhere in the corner. "I really thought it would be okay to show them, Master." "_Harry!_" a furious-sounding girl-voice said. "What did I tell you to call me in front of everyone?" "Your name." "And _why_ did I ask you to do that?" "Because it's our secret... and because it's today is your day off from teaching me" "Why bravo, so you _do_ remember! And what did I say about showing what we can do to others?" "Not to." "So tell me, _apprentice_, exactly what are you thinking, breaking these rules which, by the way, we _both_ came up with and agreed to follow?" Harry just hung his head, unable to say anything in his defence. "Just don't do it again Harry, okay?" "Yes M-Hermione." "Good. Come on, let's wake up Mom and the Professor. Too bad Professor McGonnagall forgot to bring back the bottle of smelling salts when reversing the table-Pony Shift. Interesting way to bend the force, though."

Once again, Minerva McGonnagall woke to the rank stench of... _something_. And the face of a smug-looking James clone. She almost fainted again when she saw him. What was Harry doing here? What was this about a cupboard? What had those muggles done? She would find out. Heaven help Albus if what she suspected was true...

"See, Hermione? Told you that sour milk would work too." Harry said, handling a white carton of milk at arm's length. Hermione just snorted his way, too busy trying to slap her unconscious mother awake to direct a glare at her friend. "Then what are you waiting for, Harry? Bring the milk here, please." And so the professor got to see Miss Granger awaken and immediately start laying in with questions.

"Harry, what? Since when can you do this? What else can you do? And why do my cheeks hurt?" Minerva cleared her throat. "I do agree, that piece of magic would be rather... advanced by magic standards." The boy just shuffled his feet around, looking at Hermione questioningly. At her nod, he sat down on the edge of the couch. "A few months, a lot of other things and your daughter tried slapping you awake before I came up with the idea of using sour milk." Again, the older lady cut in. "And where did you learn this?" "Well, it's mostly meditation and manipulating our environment. There isn't any great secret to it" "I... see."

After Sarah's slightly dazed look vanished and a slow nod later, she looked around the living room. "Where's Kyle?" "Daddy went upstairs. You know how he is with paradigm shifts in the morning." Sarah sighed. "That man chooses the worst possible times..." She noticed the elderly Professor watching the group. "So then, my daughter clearly wants to attend, as does her friend. So what do we do now?"

Minerva smirked at the woman. "Now, we go shopping."

* * *

Across the street from the Leaky Cauldron lay a narrow alleyway. It was a somewhat strange place, even for a city such as London where strange stuff is part of everyday life. It had a reputation of playing host, depending who you talked to, to the most bizarrely outfitted drag queens this side of SoHo, an underground renaissance faire that spikes its mead with LSD, a gang of Sherlock Holmes impersonators and a deranged gun runner who tested out his stuff in a basement somewhere in the alley.

If anyone had actually found out the truth, chances were that they would have just laughed at such a stupid idea. Right up until a squad of these bizarrely dressed people turned up to try and steal their memories. Needless to say that the local Met Police Station was best known for having the highest number of head cases on file compared to anywhere else in the entire United Kingdom.

And so, when a crack resounded up and down the narrow alleyway, nobody looked up, or called the police, or paid any notice to what sounded like gunfire in the narrow alleyway. Rather, they just figured someone else would do it for a change.

Minerva looked at the three pale-looking people she'd just side-along apparated. Hermione rallied the quickest, turning a scowl on her future teacher.

"Lady, just _what _are you thinking, Displacing like that without a stasis shield? You could've killed us all!" Sarah just looked questioningly at her daughter. "Hermione, what are you talking about? What was that?"

"That, Mom, was what Harry and I call Displacement. It's a kind of teleportation where you throw yourself through a crack in space while directing yourself as close as possible to a destination. You need to firmly keep the destination in mind as well as put a stasis shield between yourself and the Void if you want to stay alive. And that _lady _over there _-_" She said, pointing at her, Hermione's voice carrying an inflection on the word lady that put Minerva in mind of the tone some of the Slytherins used with the Hufflepuffs or muggleborns. "- just Displaced three people with _no bloody protection!_"

With both adults gaping at the clearly furious girl, they almost missed the chuckle that Harry was unsuccessfully trying to stifle. "At least i'm not getting it for a change. You're lucky you're an adult." Hermione rounded on him "Like you're any better Harry. Or do I need to remind you of that time you tried to Displace home and ended up in bloody Paris?"

The boy scowled at her. "Oh yeah? How about that time you tried remotely Displacing the Polkiss's car?" "I keep telling you, that was a qualified success!" "They still haven't found the bloody thing! How does that count as 'success'? Do you know how many times Piers has tried to get me to find the puppy that was in the back seat using my 'freakish powers', huh?" And then Sarah joined in. "Wait, the Polkiss's car being stolen was you?" she started, her voice getting louder and louder "And you didn't bother to tell me? I am your Mother! How could you keep this from me?" Minerva just sighed, raised her wand and set off a canon blast charm. Again, nobody outside of the group really noticed.

"Look, can we have this discussion later please? We still need to get to the alley, after all. Miss Granger, if you could hold onto my hand." The group looked at each other with expressions generally conveying the fact that this was NOT over and then set off across the street. Outside of the Leaky Cauldron, Minerva tightened her grip on Sarah's arm and yanked her along into the dusky Tavern. They were shortly followed by the two children.

"Cool. This reminds me of the Mos Eisley Cantina." "Nowhere else will you find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy, eh?" Sarah chuckled as she looked around the dingy-looking space crowded with weirdly dressed humanoids. "Though this place could do with some music..." On cue, the two kids started humming the Cantina song while Minerva approached the counter.

"Why Minerva! Stopping by for a pint in the middle of a school day, lass?"

The witch scowled at the wrinkled old man behind the bar "Not a chance Tom. I am here to escort two children on their first visit to Diagon Alley, not drink that sludge you southern scunners call alcohol." The old man just smiled back, said smile getting larger as Minerva's accent got thicker "Of course, Professor. So just a quick nip round the back then?" "Aye." "Alright then. And remember to drop by next Sunday." "And why should I do that, then?" "Haggis" "Ah, ye're a gud man fer an Englishman, Tom. I ken that I will be aroond then." She nodded to Tom and motioned the others to follow her.

"Sorry aboot the accent. Couple of me wee lion cubs, pranksters they are, charmed me brogue ta get thicker aroond large amoonts a madjeck. Wee scunners, i'll 'ave 'em fer tea. Now pay attention, ya wee blighters, fer this is the secret ter Diagoon Alley." And saying that, the witch pulled out her wand and showed them the sequence needed to gain access to Diagon Alley. "Ya remember the sequence then, aye? Aye, right. Now on with ye!"

* * *

The portal opened up and Harry, Hermione and Sarah caught their first glimpse of Diagon Alley. Minerva took her wand and pointed it at the back of her neck while everyone else was distracted. _"Finite Incantatem."_ _Ah, that's much better. The little buggers are getting better at it, though. Maybe I should sic Moody on 'em, see if that would work as well as it did for Gideon and Fabian. Constant vigilance indeed._The children were awed by the weaves of magic strewn around, the hue of their colors unlike anything they'd come across before, with commands and functions unguessed at, beckoning them ever onwards in their hunger for knowledge.

Merchants manned oddly carved stalls outside of the main shops, their rainbow-colored display areas hocking anything from discounted newt eyes to second-hand racing brooms along a street barely wide enough in most areas to accommodate four people marching abreast. The buildings themselves were strange, a clearly medieval design clashing with construction methods and materials lost in the normal world since Roman times. No two houses looked the same, with a vivid purple multi-story block of flats sitting right alongside a neon green magical paraphernalia shop. The roofings were as eclectic as the buildings, with some using thatch, others being flat topped, others lined with tiles and some being topped by some kind of animated ooze.

The humans were, if anything, even more diversely outfitted, with rainbow robes thrown over what looked like a bright orange business suit being the norm. As the four walked along, the children and their guardian just stared around themselves in clear disbelief before grabbing a hold of themselves. It was clear that, wherever they'd ended up, logic was as foreign a concept as colour coordination.

* * *

"Well, I am glad I didn't bring Kyle along" Sarah said, a sentiment that made both children nod in agreement. His notorious inability to deal with the... strange would definitely be a hindrance here. "Hermione, hand your supply list over to Harry, would you? He needs to check the list for anything he can buy right now with you. Will that be a problem, miss McGonnagall?" The old witch just shook her head. "No, absolutely not. In fact, I think that we can buy all of his things together right now. Just don't go telling anyone else, alright?" A chorus of "Yes, professor" was heard. "Right then, off to Gringotts." She said, pointing at what looked like a small white office block towering over its neighbouring buildings.

Up close, Gringott's didn't look like much. It was a slab of white marble disguised as a building, about four stories high, with a large front entrance. There were far more impressive sights to be seen almost anywhere else in London, office towers rising far above the ground in a majestic display of glass, bronze and engineering brains. Monuments to man's romantic soul and jet-black heart were literally strewn around central London, open and bare for all to see.

By comparison, the outside of Gringott's looked rather puny. But what was inside was far more, well, _magical_ than anything you could expect to see anywhere outside of Gringott's itself. From the Goblin guards holding their silent and menacing vigil in the lobby entirely decked out in black marble, to the strange murals depicting scenes of incredible slaughter to the piece of poetry threatening thieves with punishes unspoken, everything in the entrance lobby seemed to be designed with foreboding in mind. And then the doors to the main floor of Gringott's opened. The three new arrivals stared in awe at what lay before them.

"It's bigger on the inside!" "Like the TARDIS!" "They have a stock exchange sitting in the main hallway? How quaint..." "Look, Mom, a centaur." "Bet they have Dragons somewhere around here too." "Why would they have that?" "Have you seen the look of this place? It's practically screaming 'fire-breathing Dinosaurs ahoy'! How can there _not _be Dragons?" "Well, we are in the middle of London -" "- in a goblin lair. A lair full of Goblin _bankers_. Of course they'll have dragons. Probably use them as accountants, too." "Get off it, there's no way, I tell you!" "And I say way. Bet you an ice cream. Deal?" "Sure, i'll take you up on it." "But Moom, it's not fair if there are three of us! If I lose, i'll have to pay for two ice creams!" "Okay princess, why don't you ask Professor McGonnagall whether she wants to bet too?" "Profess-" "They _do _have dragons, miss Granger. I dare say you lost that bet." "Aww..." "Enough gawking now, we're next."

The Goblin teller the group walked up to didn't look up from his paperwork for a full minute before Hermione decided to get noticed. "Professor, how do I politely approach a Goblin?" "The trick is to approach the Goblin with Goblin politeness rather than human politeness, miss Granger" At the group's puzzled expression, she sighed and moved one step forward. "Watch me."

"Goblin! What is your name?" The Goblin looked up at the witch, a malevolent sneer painted across his face " Wyrmchoker. What is yours, smelly old wandwaver?" "Minerva McGonnagall. Wyrmchoker, what are the three happiest things in life?" "To use your enemy's skull as a cup, to use their spouse's bones for cutlery and their offspring's flesh as food. Wandwaver, what are the three saddest things in life?" "To be brought low in battle, to suffer the friendship of cowards and to be caught without a fight. Varak'thol!" "Varak'thol!"

The goblin somehow pulled off a friendly-looking scowl "Fine, your imperfect knowledge of the old ways means I shall deign to suffer your infuriating interruption without having you all for dinner. What do you want, fast food?" "I am here to escort these people" she waved at the three people behind her "and convert some muggle money into proper Galleons." "And who are these" the goblin's gaze travelled from person to person _"people_ then? More of your common-born, I presume?_" "_The two females are Sarah and Hermione Granger_" _the two females snapped out of the greetings-induced trance at hearing their names "and the young man next to them is Harry Potter".

Wyrmchoker peered at the child from over the counter. He suddenly barked out a harsh laugh. "Hah! A fitting hero for a wizard indeed. To think that your kind worship a runt..." Harry just looked at the strange creature insulting him and his lineage, his upbringing, his education and his position in the world. He could tell that the Goblin was merely trying to get a rise out of him, so he kept on grinning and bearing the insults until... "Well, enough of this. Since you are here, we might as well see if you are who you say you are. Give me your hand." Harry did so, only to have his palm slashed open by a lightning-quick strike from the goblin's knife. Even as he gasped and tried to withdraw his hand, some of his blood fell onto the parchment underneath his palm, the blood being absorbed by the dried animal skin and not leaving a trace behind. Runes started to appear on the parchment, symbols so ancient and forgotten even the professor looked puzzled by them. The goblin, on the other hand, dropped the sneer and just stared at the parchment in disbelief.

"Alright, so you are Harry James Potter. For what it's worth, I knew your father, may his flesh leave a bitter after-taste in his enemy's stomach. You may look like him, but you are a runt and probably taste too game-y for me to bother challenging you for the right to the Potter estate. Therefore, Gringott's will allow you access to your trust vault until someone stoops low enough to kill you and claim your estate as spoil or until the laughably unlikely advent of your seventeenth birthday, when other vaults will become accessible to you. I will now have one of my assistants take you to your vaults and change your companions' money. GRIPHOOK! GET YOUR MANGY ARSE OVER HERE NOW!" a smaller, slightly chubbier Goblin appeared next to the counter. "You are to take these people down to vault number 687 right now, do you understand?" "Yes, Teller Wyrmchoker." "Then you are to exchange whatever money they want for Galleons, got that?" "Yes, Teller Wyrmchoker." "Then what are you slacking off for? Move it!" "Yes sir. Ladies, sir, if you would follow me please..."

* * *

"Wow, that was an awesome ride!" "Speak for yourself, young lady. I still can't figure out how I didn't vomit on the way down." "The carts are charmed to prevent customers from succumbing to motion sickness whilst on Gringott's ground." "That's... nice of them." "No, they only do it to stop people from using it as an excuse for 'dawdling'." "Okay... It's still nice" "Wow, actual _vaults_! I always thought only Fort Knox and some Swiss banks still did this." "Well, you wand-wavers are backward like that. Still stuck in the sixteenth century on most things." "Well, at least we have a bank that fits right in with the times. Isn't that right, Griphook?" "Indeed, old one. If it were up to us Goblins, we would be using computers out in the open instead of hiding them from the wand-wavers." "You have _computers_ here? Can I see them, pretty please?" "I am afraid not, Madame Granger. Letting you see them would be fine, but letting any of the wand wavers near them would be a disaster." "Why is that?" "Put simply, wand magics interfere with electricity very badly." "Oh..." "Anyway, here we are. Vault 687. Here's your new key, runt."

Griphook handed the key over to Harry, who then proceeded to turn it in the lock. The door opened to reveal stacks upon stacks of Gold, Silver and Bronze coins, oftentimes touching the very ceiling of the vault.

"This... This is all mine?" He squeaked out, amazed at how wealthy he was. Minerva coughed. "Indeed, you are very wealthy Mister Potter. And remember, this is only your trust vault. There are others you will be allowed to access when you turn seventeen." Without another word, Harry picked up a bag he'd found next to the entrance and started shoving coins into it. After a while, he showed it to Minerva, who was busy chatting with Sarah and Hermione in front of the vault. "Would that be enough for me and Hermione, Professor?" The witch just looked at him and nodded her head. "Indeed, mister Potter. More than enough for today, I would say." "Okay, then let's go."

"So where to next?" Sarah asked, eyeing the increasingly bizarre architecture that should not stand up to gravity. She felt oddly insulted by the way the wizards seemed to mock the basic tenets of physics with such a casual ease. At least the Goblins were _sensible_, even if just a tad bloodthirsty and more than slightly insane. Minerva was alright, but the other magical people she'd come across... She looked over at her daughter, who was reading off the list.

"Madame Malkins would be best. Then Ollivander's, Eeylops and, finally, Flourish & Blott's." Sarah looked over at Professor McGonnagall, who indicated a direction for them to follow. Diagon Alley was, simply put, downright bizarre. It was clearly not meant as a shopping district, given the amount of aged and cracked cobblestones, the shops crammed into whatever narrow space they could find and the disjointed and oppressive feeling in the narrower areas.

Harry was sticking close to either Hermione or McGonnagall, seeking reassurance in the face of what was an extremely uncomfortable experience for one as unused to crowded spaces as Harry was. Minerva wished that Hagrid was with her. If anybody would be able to reassure the little tyke, Hagrid was that man. She sighed as she spotted a larger-than-usual shopfront not far from their little group.

"Here we are, Madame Malkin's. Miss Granger, can you go get yourself fitted out for Hogwarts? I think that Mister Potter will need to wait until next year if he still wants his robes to fit by the time he goes to school." The little girl's eyes widened at having missed that particular detail" and what about me, professor? I won't just stay the same size for that long, will I?" "No, Miss Granger, growth is almost guaranteed at this point. However, your clothes will be a lot easier to resize than his. The difference in enchantments between male and female clothing means that women's clothing generally favours adaptation over the men's embedded resilience charms." "Ah, okay then. See you three later, then!" the girl shouted, darting off into the Uniform fitting area.

A faint "Hogwarts, dear?" could be heard coming from there, followed by a small yet enthusiastic "Yes!" answer. Sarah just shook her head. "She really is dead set on going to Hogwarts, isn't she?" The professor just looked at her, sympathy shining in her eyes. "They grow up so fast, you know. Every time I turn around, it seems that the little children I helped Sort turned into adults while I wasn't looking. At least you know she will come back to you someday." The mother turned to the Professor. "And you? What about your children?" "Oh, never had the time. None of the men in my life stayed long enough, and I poured my life into the school. By the time I realised what had happened, it was too late for me." Sarah looked away from the expression on the older lady's face, opting to look around the British wizarding world's favourite clothing shop.

"Do they just sell robes and uniforms here? I was under the impression that this was where every wizard ended up when looking to buy clothes." "Yes, when they're looking to buy wizarding clothes, this is the place to go. But there are muggle clothing specialists, which is where most wizards will go when buying clothes for everyday wear or for interacting with muggles. The outfits you saw outside were of the most fashionable muggle styles sold in Diagon Alley this year." "Good heavens. Do they need their eyes checked? I've never seen such colors on clothing before, and I still have some of my mum's clothes from the sixties!" The two ladies laughed at that.

While the two ladies were chatting away, little Harry Potter was exploring the shop. There were some truly strange items from his ten-year-old point of view. From the few times he'd gone into clothing stores, he could tell that there were a lot of differences between the so-called magicals and normals' fashion senses. There were robes he could have sworn belonged in medieval fantasy movies, dresses that seemed to come straight out of a Star Wars movie or Battlestar Galactica episode, uniforms he'd seen illustrated in books on the Roman Army, cavalry boots... To little Harry, it was like that time the Dursleys had forgotten him at the museum and he'd snuck into the back rooms to find shelter for the night.

Everything around him was new, strange and exciting. He'd had to turn his Force Sight off when entering the Gringott's cavern, the Force weaves were so densely packed. The headache the light from such a raging Force torrent caused had almost been too much for him. Since coming back up from his vault, he would steal a quick glance through his Force connection, then keep it off for the rest of the time. He didn't want to experience such head-splitting pain ever again.

He caught a glimpse of Hermione talking to the nice seamstress as she duly recorded all the girl's measurements with a floating tape measure. Why didn't she just take measurements by using the Force? He and Hermione could do it fairly easily using their Force Sight, but then judging by the old lady's reaction when he'd hovered on the spot... He would have to figure out how to allow people to do the same with a wand. Was that why these people were so obsessed with the strange connection a wand provides to the Force?

That was the only explanation he could come up with, given how almost every single wizard he'd encountered had a smaller connection to the Force than either he or Hermione had. Even the old lady had a similar problem, with a large but atrophied set of connections outside of her main one. The few times she'd used the wand, he had seen how the wand's connection fit her main Force connection almost perfectly. It would take her years of meditation if she intended to catch up to either him or his Master in terms of control of the Force.

He shivered at the thought of having to use a proxy every time he intended to access the force. To him, it sounded almost like those people that needed a set of Iron Lungs to breathe, relying on such a fragile thing to perform something that basic. He would never complain about meditation to Hermione ever again.

* * *

But then again, he could see why wand use was so prevalent. It was apparently easier to use than a direct connection, not to mention that it was faster since it used the Force collected inside the body rather than pulling it from the surrounding Stream. Typically, Harry's internal Force build-up was far more potent and attuned to himself than that pulled straight out of the Force. The connection filtered out any impurities in the internal build-up, dumping the dangerous or unwanted elements right back into the Stream. Exclusively relying on internal stores would be far too dangerous and exhausting for a Force wielder, but a wand user could afford to do so, thanks largely to the fact that it focused the Force into a tight beam.

It also allowed for immediately replicable results that anybody with a wand and a large enough internal Force store could learn to achieve within days rather than the weeks or months some of Harry's and Hermione's more demanding disciplines took. And the way the wand itself connected to the Force made Harry a tad envious. The things a wand did without the wielder even realising it... Needless to say, both him and Hermione would be spending a long time picking up any tricks their wands would be teaching them.

But, wands also had glaringly blatant disadvantages too. People using wands manipulate the Force around them without completely understanding what was going on. Harry and Hermione often spent months figuring out and experimenting with the Force during their meditation exercises, giving them a basic understanding of how the Force reacts to them and how their actions react to the Force. It became infinitely easier with Force sight giving them the ability to visualise how the Force acted and reacted to different combinations of thoughts and emotions, but they still needed the understanding of some things happened while others didn't.

Wands were _the_ shortcut to use. It cut down training time from months to hours, delivered a versatility and focus it would take even an early-starting Force wielder a decade to master, at the very least. A force wielder had to feel, see, understand and predict what makes the Force work in a given way. All a wand user does is point, think about what they want and wave the wand until something happens. That means that the familiarity a Force wielder acquires through their hard-won abilities with the Force they use is such that they quickly begin to master extremely complex aspects of the Force. Ask a Force wielder how come there were rivers in the Force, and you will get an incredibly detailed and well thought-out answer that you couldn't hope to understand, seeing the amount of time spent trying to uncover the very nature of the Force means having very little time to translate it for non-Force users. Ask a wand wielder where the magic comes from and you're likely to hear that magic is a gift from wizards to the rest of the world. Without the need to _know _'magic', very few wand users take the time to actually understand it. The result: incredible danger when doing the simplest things.

The professor-lady's earlier Displacement was an example of this; it was the wand that had put up a weak shield between their group and the monstrous Void that hid... things. Had he not insisted on applying a stasis shield to Hermione the first time Master had tested the idea, he doubted there would have been anything left of her to find afterwards. In point of fact, that was _exactly_ what had happened to Piers' dad's car...

And yet, apparently every wand waver could do it, and did so in complete, blissful ignorance of just how close they come to losing their mind and their body to the solid, colourful noises and loud stench of the in-between every time they do so.

Then, Harry reflected as he looked at the impressive array of hats on offer, there was the issue of aiming. Wands are incredibly good at focusing on a very narrow area, but they don't really come with any sights or anything you would expect such a precision Force tool to have. This, of course, meant that aiming where you wanted to project your Force weave was a bit difficult.

And, of course, there was the main problem; wands were too focused and single-minded. Harry and Hermione had meditated long and hard for the ability to project the Force from any point in their body outwards and to even join the projections together into exponentially more complex weaves. It was thanks to this ability that the duo were able to master flying, shielding and Force Lightning. Wands would find replicating these effects extremely difficult, largely because they relied on the interactions between Force weaves, rather than the individual direct effect of each of the weaves, to work. The best way for a wand to attempt replicating these weaves would be to use said wand to carve runic arrays that would do the same thing as Harry did and use the wand to power up the arrays when needed.

This did not even cover the fact that anybody wanting to prevent Harry from accessing the Force would have to completely atomise his body, since he had been able to establish completely new Force connections through any part of his body ever since his shape shifting powers came into play. If he focused, he could open and use three separate connections at the same time rather than having to split and channel the Force through different parts of his body. Hermione had only recently been able to emulate his shape-shifting ability to a degree, but she was catching up. She was able to open one new Force connection so far, but was optimistic that she'd be up to two soon. But someone who relied purely on a wand could only barely maintain one connection open, let alone two. So anybody looking to incapacitate a wand wielders' ability to access the force would just have to smash the long, thin, extremely fragile stick before the wand wielder could protect it.

Harry, having resolved never to entirely rely on a wand, made his way back to the Ladies, thoughts revolving around both the wizarding world's addiction to wands and the glorious headgear he had spent about ten minutes perusing while the ladies amused themselves. "Sarah, I think that Hermione's about done for measurements now." "Thanks, dear. Let's go pick her up."

They found the bushy-haired menace arguing loudly about cloak colours with the shopping assistants. "No, I will not wear pink cloaks to school! In fact, I refuse to wear pink anything! It's an unnatural and degrading colour that stereotypes-" Harry winced. Hermione was using big words in an argument. She only did that when she was _pissed_. "-all young girls my age. Do you all go around liking the same man as everybody else your age? Do you wear the exact same perfume as the lady living on the other side of the street? Do you watch TV at one o'clock in the morning, just like my next-door neighbor? No? Then how do you _think_ I feel when someone tells me 'but all little girls like pink!'. So let-"

Her mother put a hand on her shoulder "Hermione, we get it! No pink, right?" Looking slightly abashed, Hermione muttered a 'yes mom' and allowed Harry to pull her away to check out the overly large collection of hats and ceremonial weapons that were laid out in a separate part of the shop. "Sorry, but she tends to get passionate about the oddest things sometimes. Got that from her father, she did."

The saleswitch smiled at her. "Don't worry, miss. We get all sorts here. Besides, we're used to it. Since muggleborns tend to come in for their birthdays to get fitted and kitted, we get our fair share of normally nice kids who decide to act like spoiled brats for the day. And between you and me" and the sales witch leaned in closer to Sarah. "Your daughter has got _nothing_ on some of the purebloods we get in here. Even the men act like they were born with their equipment inside and that they're out shopping to forget that it's their 'time of the month'. Dainty little princesses, the lot of 'em."

Minerva snorted. "At least you never had to teach the scunners anything. You get to meet them when they're acting _civilised_." The trio chuckled and the saleswitch rang up the till. After paying for and receiving Hermione's new Wizarding clothes which had the mere mention of pink removed from the package, Sarah rounded up the two children while they were staring at a top hat that was a metre high ("Why would someone even want this?" "You know, i'd rather not find out") and the group set off on their merry way again.

* * *

Harry and Hermione had decided to check out the new area of the alley with their Force Sight switched on when Harry looked to his left... and froze. There was a billowing cloud of purplish-black smoke obscuring a complete section of the alleyway. New sensations he'd never heard or felt before started to assert themselves through his Force connection. There were... weird, disjointed creatures lounging up near the top of the buildings framing the Dark Force mass that was the mysterious alleyway, each one desperately trying to expose as much of themselves to the sun as possible. Their chitters and subtle scratching noises could be heard by the ten-year-old through the Force, clawing at his conscience like a pack of rabid dogs would tear at a piece of meat. He backed away from the alleyway, fearful of what would happen should he come into contact with the dark-purpleish cloud through his Force connection.

"Professor?" Minerva turned around, only to behold a very pale-looking and fearful Potter pointing across the street. "What is... _that place?_" His voice rose to a squeak. She looked at what his pointed finger indicated and sighed. "That, Mister Potter, is Knockturn Alley. I would advise you, mister Potter, to stay away from that Alley for as long as you possibly can. Evil things, very evil things indeed, have been known to happen to innocents wandering into that alley." The little boy just nodded. "Y-yes, professor. I'll make sure of it. Let's just go." He said, pulling a sick-looking Hermione along with him.

"Did you _see_ that? I've never felt anything like it! What happened in there?" The girl stage-whispered to Harry. "Evil things, she said. The professor told me to stay away from there for as long as possible." "No need to tell me twice. Those... creatures." She shuddered and said no more, opting to catch up with her mother, who was busily gawking at a never-ending tea dispenser on sale a few shops away.

Soon enough, the group were entering Ollivander's wand shop.

* * *

AFTERMATH: The Goblins (because it sounded cool at the time)

Deep under even the lowest of vaults, deeper even than the cities and holding pens that made up the Goblin nation, a cavernous amphitheatre played host to the hundred elders, the council of the Goblin Nation's branch of Greater Brittania. The hundred heads of various Goblin clans, as well as uncounted thousands of their retainers, filled the massive Colosseum-type structure, impatient and nervous in their wait for this extraordinary meeting to begin.

The roar was deafening as yet another fight broke out between the senior Gringott's district manager of Ireland and the senior Gringott's branch manager of Northern Ireland. The glint of fire and sword flashed across the cavern as the two war veterans fought and parried each other's efforts to kill their neighbour, which doubles as the word for 'mortal enemy' in Gobbledegook. The iridescent moss and magical torches lining the cavern helped the District Lord of Greater Cymru estimate the odds of the battle and preside between bets laid for or against either combattant. No matter what happened, many crime slaves and pack beasts would change hands come morning. Finally, the Ogre of Belfast managed to graze the Dublin Droughtmaker's shoulder with his poisoned blade, causing the dying Goblin to rush and impale the other through the eye before the poisoner could claim his head in battle.

The outcome of the duel was a victory to the Irish Goblins, with the Northern Irish Goblins having to issue a Battle Challenge by the end of the week or suffer watching their spouses become Dragon food. The goblin clans of Ireland would be united come Halloween, either way.

As the crowd calmed down and paid their bets, a door opened in the highest stall available. Every Goblin present clambered to their feet, straightening whatever clothing or armor they chose to wear for the occasion. Not a peep was to be heard in the massive, old-fashioned stadium. A lone figure, taller than the average Goblin, appeared on the stall's balcony,with hands outspread. He was dressed in an impeccable pinstripe suit, the only indication of his rank being the wreath of white laurels, stained with the blood of his predecessor, circling his head. King Ragnok the Third, slayer of Lord Cracknut the Elderly, Rustyknife the vengeful and Silverado Savings & Loan stood before his assembled stakeholders, the most powerful political force in the European division of the Goblin Nation.

* * *

"Brother Goblins! Welcome to the Royal Amphitheatre for this extraordinary session of the Goblin Nation's Branch of Great Britannia. I, King Ragnok, hereby call this session to order!"

A massive roar of greeting and relief rose from the crowd as the event they'd waited for the past hour finally began.

"First, I bring news from Wyrmchoker, humble teller at the Diagon Alley branch of Gringotts. Harry Potter has been met by Goblins!" A muted cry went out from the crowd, as some of the more isolated Goblins had their memories about the Hero of Wizarding Britain refreshed. "And he is as all wand-wavers are; weak!" A roar met the pronouncement. "Meek!" another cry of anger rose from the crowd. "And ignorant!" The din rose to deafening levels. "And yet-" the din died. "there is hope for the yound wand-waver. He has worthy companions at his side." Ragnok gave the crowd a razor grin. "And is already fiercely protective of his future mate. But best of all, we now know how he survived that vrel'kahush Voldemort." The grin widened at the angry hisses following the name. "His mother, his own mother, cursed him with a Carrick Tor shield. He is immune to death!" A shocked gasp ran through the crowd. "That's right, my brothers and sisters. The prophecy is valid! The Cursed Walker walks among us! And he has found his Navigator of The Eternal Void already!" The response was immediate.

"VA-RAK-THOL! VA-RAK-THOL! VA-RAK-THOL! VA-RAK-THOL!" "SILENCE!" The crowd stopped their chanting. "As you all know, there is now much to prepare. The heavens could fall to earth at any time, and only the Cursed Walker and his Navigator can save us now! We must give them a reason to take us with them when they leave this plane, as prescribed by the elder Seers. Eternal survival of the Goblin Race is our reward, and extinction our failure! Are you with me?" The crowd responded with a resounding "YES!" "Are you with the Walker?" "YES!" "Then we must work together! We help them bring the Dark One down when the time comes, we give them the help they need to set the plan in motion. Then we follow them wherever they go. Are you still with me?" "YES!" And Ragnok clapped his hands together "Then, on the bones of our ancestors, SO MOTE IT BE!" The massive wave of sound and golden glow following the pronouncement was like a flashbang to the King.

"SILENCE! Now that we have finalised the Oath of Prophecy, time to turn to tonight's entertainment. Bring in the prisoner!"

* * *

In the pit of the Amphitheatre, a small door at the base of the south wall opened. In walked, head held high, a Goblin bearing a diminished stature and an impressive collection of sores and bruises. On his left and right, two lightly armoured guards had their spears pointed at the Goblin's stomach, marching in lockstep with the prisoner. He turned towards the royal balconies, an expressionless mask on his face. "Well met, Usurper Ragnok!"

The King scowled at the dot in the fighting pit, no doubt imagining the insufferably smug expression prison seemed to have grafted onto the disgraced Goblin's face. "You will be silent before your king, Gridlick The Rebel! Too many times have I had to suffer your presence already. Tonight you shall die for your crimes. For Inciting Rebellion! For Treason! For Theft Of Position! For Murder! I sentence you to the VARAK!" The roar following the sentence and the clamoring of Varak'thol filled the cavern.

"SILENCE! But, since I am a generous and forgiving monarch, I shall allow you the honor of defending yourself. Guards, hand a dagger to the prisoner and withdraw!" The Goblin on the left pulled a small dagger from a shoulder scabbard and threw it to the ground in front of the prisoner. When Gridlick bent to pick it up, both guards kicked him in the buttocks and ran for the entrance while it was still open.

* * *

The prisoner picked up the dagger and stood up, the cruel laughter of his lifelong enemies still ringing in his ears. "Gridlick the Rebel, are you prepared to meet your fate?" "I am, you cowardly fool! I shall show you how a true Goblin dies, Ragnok. May you die on your knees, like your idiot of a father did when I ran him through with the Sword Of Rome!" Gridlick drank in the shocked hush of the crowd, startled at the Rebel's audacious boast about the previous King, Grendelslayer The Great, Master of Investors. Ragnok would be well within his rights to have a wizard flay the Goblin alive for his disrespect, yet all knew it was now too late. The lone voice of the king broke the silence "Very well, Gridlick. May you prove just how noble a death a traitorous bastard such as yourself can provide. OPEN THE GATES!"

Gridlick turned towards the massive set of porticullis gates slowly rising upwards, ever upwards. Nothing but darkness greeted his sight, even as the starved prisoner crept nearer the seemingly empty chasm on the other side of said gates. Clutching his dagger, he shouted. "VARAK! I am Gridlick, of clan Yelnick, seventh heir to the Sunborn and First among Equals of the Siberian commissariat! Face me, as I would face you."

A sudden bass roar greeted this pronouncement, followed by the hollow boom of a truly enormous mass moving ponderously towards the opening. The Varak, worshipped as a God by the Deep Goblins, is an albino dragon a hundred metres long, with snow-white hide and deep black eyes. It dwells in caverns a kilometre underground, digging its way through the earth's crust with its diamond-hard claws and massive hinged jaw. Its flame of black light is said to have inspired the idea of punishment in the afterlife amongst the humans, so horrific the results could be. And, out of the inky blackness, a completely white face framed by Onyx eyes and black smoke seemed to fill the arena. Gridlick charged.

The Varak looked at the small creature whose magic had forced it to look the creature's way and was now running towards the Varak's face, yelling defiance all the way. It breathed once upon the creature, annoyed at having its meal interrupted over a challenge by so puny a creature, and withdrew. Gridlick fell to the ground in agony as his skin dissolved under the heat of hellfire, refusing to scream until he knew no more. "Gridlick the Rebel is no more! His sentence has been completed! May he be remembered for dying like he said he would; a true Goblin to the end."

* * *

The crowd roared one last time, laughing in remembrance of the fool who'd defied the Goblin Nation unto death and toasting his impressive departure. Strong enemies are worthier of remembrance than weak allies are, after all. And, as far as Ragnok was concerned, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger would have a long way to go before proving themselves to him either way. For friend or Enemy, fate is not the responsibility of the weak. Ragnok would follow a strong Walker, but not a fool.


	4. Minerva's Big Day part2: Wands & Woes

Chapter 4: Minerva's Big Day Part 2: Wands and Woes.

_A/N: For those wondering why I am making Diagon Alley a bit... different, it's because in my mind, magical shopping alleys do not look like medieval tourist traps. In my mind, it's a cross between Transmetropolitan's City and Disneyland, so there. Oh, and I heartily recommend Transmetropolitan for any of you that happen to like comics. This stuff will blow your mind, even if it does tend to be brutal most of the time._

_P.S.: I know Hermione's wand is a Vinewood and Dragon Heartstring core. I don't care. In this story, she gets elder while all other wand factors remain equal to her. Why, you ask? Because I can, nyah!_

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Or the rights necessary to genetically engineer a completely separate sentient species and release them in countries ruled by dictators. Or the intellectual property needed to build a version of Skynet without being sued after John Connor wins. But what really is frustrating me today is that I do not have the imagination available to come up with a snazzy 'I don't own Harry Potter because _this bit_ just doesn't make sense' one-liner today. Which I don't have the rights to anyway either, but still...**

"Ah, a tricky customer indeed. Here, birch, 11 inches. with the pickled brainstem of a hinkypunk as a core. Good for charms, transfiguration and bibliomancy." The creepy old man explained, though no-one was listening by that stage. Hermione waved the wand. An oompa-loompa appeared on the sales counter. _The most telling thing about the magical world_, Sarah thought to herself, _is that an oompa-loompa appearing out of thin air merely elicits a yawn from me now._

The young girl (no, _witch _now) sighed as yet another random yet totally expected mishap came to be. "No, it just doesn't feel right sir." She said, placing the wand on top of a large stack of pre-tested ones. Ollivander started to get excited. Everyone else, however, did the sensible thing and started to get frustrated. Only Harry, it seemed, was not miffed at how long it was taking. After all, it was difficult to be bored when you're exploring. And, just like at Madame Malkins, he found that the dusty backwater sections of the shop were far, far more interesting than whatever was going on in the testing area. While Hermione basked in the attention that two surly adults and one very suspicious old man directed her way, Harry found a door near the back of a badly illuminated section of the store and opened it.

The entire room was wrapped up in a deep gloom, with the lighting suggesting it was the twilight period experienced at sunset rather than the bright midday sun the rest of Britain was experiencing. Thick, very thick layers of dust coated every conceivable surface, his exploring ways kicking up generations worth of the dark grey substance. And oh, what treasures lay hidden under the depressing snow of entropy! He passed a rack of books whose titles were written in bizzare looking mini-pictures. He recognised some of them as hieroglyphs, but the origins of others were harder to pin down. Each and every single one of those books' spines twisted around to look at him, their undersides seemingly glued to the shelf. He waved at them. They nodded back at him.

Further down, he came across staves, swords and strange articles of clothing. Rainbow-hued gauntlets, glowing boots, capes whose shimmering patterns shifted to mirror the world around them... it was the strangest clothes rack he'd seen yet. Still, the hats were nifty-looking, even if they too turned to follow his figure as he moved around the shelves. One hat even had a pair of eyes stuck to its brim, the brownish-yellow orbs staring at him as he passed by. He arrived at yet another door at the other end of the rack. He'd seriously considered using the Force to see what the true shape of things were, but decided against it once he noticed that he was sweating from the heat the Force Weaves gave off in the display room. He opened the door.

Immediately, a number of... odd things stood out. First, this room was _huge_. He could barely make out the other end of the room even with how well-lit this section of the store was. The next odd thing was that the whole room looked like a modern jewellery shop rather than the dust-covered second-hand-store feel the rest of Ollivander's went for. And then... there was the noise. He could make out a number of voices, but none of them made any sense. He heard a stream of Latin from somewhere, what sounded like shouts in German, Russian, French and many more he'd never heard before.

None of the shouting was coming from inside the shop itself, but from the large windows letting the light in from either side. It was almost as if every window had a unique language being spoken aloud. And then, there was the downright _weird_. He'd looked to the windows on the left, and saw the sun shining through them. Then, he looked to the right, and saw the sun shining through them too. He did a double take at that, almost knocking one of the display cases over as he advanced to look out through one of the windows on his left. What he saw amazed him.

The sky was purple and pink, with the deep, deep velvet hue that his mind associated with sundown. The few clouds he could see on the horizon were violet, almost black against the sky. The outlines of humungous birds and aircraft cast shadows on the ground, which was covered in some kind of transparent bluish-green material that reminded Harry of the colour of lake water in summer. The sun was setting, flanked by what looked like a giant cigar that could be seen just floating above the planet. And then he saw the city. He fell off the stool he'd used to climb up and see through the window, narrowly avoiding bashing his head in on a counter.

_Was that for real?_ He shook his head to dislodge the spiders he felt crawling all over his frontal lobe, blinked and climbed back onto the stool. This time, he was confronted with a landscape he associated more with ancient Rome than any of Hermione's sci-fi books. A column of Legionnaires stood to attention in front of an important-looking building, merchants hawked strange-looking food and people dressed in either robes or tunics hurried around, doing whatever they needed to do at midday.

Harry saw a street kid wolfing down some kind of meat in a small alley to the window's right. He felt jealous. He would have killed to have some meat for lunch before Hermione found him.

He shook his head, climbing off the stool and exploring the massive department he found himself in. The further inside he went, the duller the noise got. Everything was just so... strange here.

Most of the items for sale called to Harry and his connection, seemingly anxious to be tested by him. He remembered looking at a jewelled sword in one of the display cases, only for it to start talking about how cool and awesome it was, how much it could do for him and what adventures they would have together. He'd learned something new about magical swords then. They could pout without a face. That was a pretty cool trick in Harry's opinion, though that somewhat disqualified the sword in question from being used as a weapon. After all, it wouldn't do for your weapon to start sulking about how hard it was to get the taste of blood out of its pommel in the middle of a fight. Downright embarrassing thing to happen, in Harry's opinion.

There were tiaras, bangles, amulets, rings, more gauntlets and various bits of armour (all gilded, of course), all in display cases and all seemingly eager to channel. Even the basket of uncut crystals he came across halfway through could probably connect to the Force with minimal effort on his part. But the most interesting thing Harry found was at the back of the room. There, sitting on a velvet cushion, were two of the most beautiful watches Harry had ever laid eyes on. The case opened as Harry approached, the two watches floating towards him as he stared at them, completely entranced. He reached up to grab both of them. And jerked back as he did so, an electric shock running up and down his spine on contact. He cried out in pain and then made to grab them as they started falling to the ground. _There. Now to go and pay for them. But beforehand_...

* * *

He moved past the empty case, eyes intent on yet another room at the back of the shop. He operated the crude-looking handle on the door, but got no further. The door was locked. But there was one of those old peep-holes with a sliding cover on them. Harry worked the slide away. There was a muted discussion coming from the other side.

"Ah, you _are_ a tricky customer." _Ollivander? But isn't he at the other side of the shop?_ He could see the back of the shopkeeper through the peep-hole, head bent over until it was almost out of Harry's sight ."So, what to do, what to do. Ah! I have just the thing!" He exclaimed, making for an unidentifiable section of the front shop. His departure revealed a large, large stack of wands sitting in a corner, the pile defying all known laws of gravity by staying upright. The whole shop had a slightly singed look, with the display case holding the wand holsters still burning merrily away.

And in the middle of it all stood a tall, scrawny kid trying to take all the things he could see around himself in at once. His hair was a dark chestnut brown, his skin was slightly pale and his deep blue eyes, though still bright with wonder, were slowly succumbing to the dullness of fatigue and boredom. He was wearing black clothes that were a mere half-step away from being classified as rags, rougher than the cast-offs Harry normally wore and coated in what Harry suspected was blood, given the sheen some of the newer layers of 'varnish' still posessed. He rather doubted the kid could even bend in that stiff overcoat of his. Odds were even if Harry would still have a sense of smell left if he had to spend any time at all in the kid's mere presence.

Ollivander made his way back to the counter."Here you go, try this one! Yew, 13 and a half inches with a phoenix feather core." The boy touched the wand, his eyes lighting up in gleeful joy as Harry felt a large backwash coming from the Force. He looked at the kid again, as that moment of innocent joy was almost instantly replaced by a look that Harry felt was... familiar. _Wrong_, somehow, but familiar.

He blinked. The look was gone, replaced by a bright child's smile. He was happy alright, but there was something else nagging at Harry. No, scratch that, something in his mind was screaming at him to run away. "Congratulations, Mr. Riddle! That is a very powerful wand you have there. I am sure you will do great things with it. Would not surprise me, anyway. It is in your blood." The boy turned his angelic face to look at the old man, questions clearly working their way through his mind before he seemingly dismissed the comment. Harry, however, wasn't fooled at all. Both he and Hermione did this when shelving away details for later examination. "That will be seven Galleons, please." Seven gold pieces clattered and came to rest on the counter top, a slight murmur of thanks passing the child's smiling face.

He then nailed Harry with a vicious-looking smirk.

Harry was halfway through to the side he'd come in through by the time his higher brain functions managed to re-establish their authority over the outlying areas that'd somehow acted on their own volition. Not that that changed anything. Harry had come to rely on those instincts a lot from a very early childhood, so he knew what to trust them with. Running away from dangerous predators was one of those things he knew his instincts were right about.

He ran past the moping sword, the uncut gems, the absolutely gorgeous jewels on display, the mostly empty displays at the entrance of the department and slammed the entrance closed behind him. He took a breath, relaxed and proceeded to browse through the dusty section again in an effort to calm down.

This time, the books greeted him far more enthusiastically, straining against whatever was holding them in place in an effort to jump on him. Harry, acting on a whim, grabbed himself a fedora from the hat display, a bag from another shelf and picked up as many books as he could. Almost half the rack was gone before he could no longer pick any more of them up. He gasped as he looked out of the window. The illumination was no longer coming from the setting sun, but rather from the bizarrely designed street lamps that lined the street outside. He must have lost track of time while he was having fun. He hoisted the bag over his shoulder, stuck the fedora on his head and jogged towards the way he'd come in.

He opened the door to a distracted-looking Sarah. "Harry, where have you been?"

Harry fidgeted, he felt tired from all the exploring he'd done today and he was sure Ollivander would be mad at him for sneaking a peek into his storeroom. "I was just looking around, Mrs. Granger."

Sarah just looked at him skeptically "Really? And where, pray tell, did you spend the last ten minutes 'looking around'? Without telling any of us, hmm?"

"Ten minutes? Really? But it-" And Sarah chuckled. "- Felt like you'd only gone two minutes, right? Like time just stopped?"

He rallied himself. "Yeah... Yeah... Like no time at all." The elder Granger woman just nodded, then assumed what Harry privately called the 'righteous Mother' pose and pointed her left index finger at him. "Well don't do it again, Harry. I mean it, alright?" Relaxing her pose and smiling at him, she led him back to the front of the store, where the others were waiting for him.

* * *

Ollivander turned a beaming smile at Harry. "Hello again, mister Potter. I am happy to tell you that me and young miss Granger have just finished finding her the wand that wants her. 10 and a half inch elder wood, with a dragon heartstring core. Extremely powerful, yet very unstable, and good for charms. It's now your turn! Not to worry, miss Granger already indicated that you were right-handed" And with that, Harry was surrounded by magically animated measuring equipment. Ollivander's expression steadied as he called some of the tapes to him and read off random areas of said tape, muttering all the way.

Sarah was back to staring off into space while Hermione and Minerva were staring at the wand the young witch held in her hands. "It's a work of art" Hermione intoned, an awestruck expression stuck on her face.

"It's an abomination." Minerva said, surprise, horror and revulsion felt by the two children through the connection. The only thing that showed on her face was a thin-lipped frown as she stared at the wand. Hermione turned purple and almost started shouting when the older witch put her hand on the girl's shoulder. "Be very careful, Hermione. There's an old saying in the wizarding world, 'wands of Elder never prosper'. They're never truly loyal to their masters, young girl, so beware. They are known to betray you at the worst possible time. Sirius Black's wand was made of Elder Wood as well. Turns out the traitorous wood fit the traitorous bastard's personality to a tee."

Hermione's spike of anger dulled, leaving her chewing on the underside of her lips. "And why is that, Professor? Why is an elder wand considered so... bad? And just who is Sirius Black?"

Minerva sighed, fiddling with the hem of her robes. "Elder wands don't... discriminate the same way normal wands do. When they choose you, it's based on some criteria known only to the wand itself until one of its owners subjects it to an intrinsic runic causality revelation spell. Few wands like this one have ever been sold, so it is rare indeed for someone to actually wield such a monstrosity. They also tend to be very, _very_ powerful. And unstable, never quite functioning right for anyone that they disagree with. Never tell anyone you don't completely trust that you own such a wand, my girl, for though they are almost uniformly dangerous, they also tend to end up in legends as the wand to defeat the monster of the story."

The girl just nodded at her, imploring her to continue. "Elder is truly a cursed wood to wield, my dear. Many of their wielders, no matter if the wand was one of legend or not, tend to end up dead in very unpleasant and painful ways. Not because they could not perform the spells or survive the situation, oh no, but because their wand failed to respond. Do not, whatever you do, rely on it to save you girl. I trust you understand what I am saying?"

"To continue my studies with Harry." The old woman nodded. Hermione sighed, looking around the Victorian-era décor just as yet another of Harry's attempts at finding a wand blew a hole through the back wall again. "Honestly professor, we were never going to stop. You see, a wand is all well and good-" Boom "-but we need the training if we want to do anything that isn't covered by the -" Crack-splat-shriek-'sorry' "- curriculum. And Harry?" She said in a sickly sweet voice, turning towards her best friend and student, who was rooted on the spot.

"Yes, Hermione?" He said, perspiration and a tinge of fear showing on his features.

"If you aim a wand, any wand, anywhere near me again when trying them out, I will tear your eyes out and feed them to the seagulls. Do I make myself clear?" The little witch said, smile turning into a frightful scowl. Harry gulped. "Yes Hermione." "Good."

Harry waved yet another wand as far away from Hermione's vicinity as he could. Unfortunately, that happened to be a window onto an alley just outside the shop. There was a massive fwoosh, followed by a demonic wailing. Ollivander swished his wand faster than Harry thought the man was capable of. "Dear Merlin, mister Potter. You seem to have set a cat on fire."

Minerva smirked. "Mister Ollivander, I daresay that mister Potter has had little to no luck with normal wands so far. Are there any others that have been, say, difficult to place?"

The shopkeeper's face lit up. "Why yes, I have just the thing!" He said, bustling off into a back area of the shop. Harry looked up and gasped. There was a door behind where the wizened old shopkeeper had stood throughout Harry's waving about. The peep-hole was still open. Harry could feel someone there, but dared not look straight into the small gap at whoever it was that was currently looking through. A pile of wands was stacked high on the counter. Harry fidgeted. This was far too similar for him to be comfortable with. Ollivander came back straight away. "Ah, here we go! Holly and phoenix feather, 11 inches. Give it a swirl!"

The moment Harry grabbed hold of the wand, he knew something was... different. For one thing, he felt a foreign presence in his mind dumping joy and satisfaction straight into his system without even acknowledging his brain. For another, he felt his wand form its own connection, both with his internal store of purified Force and... somewhere else. Then, he felt the Force flow through him. Not the raw, powerful stuff but the purified, distilled stuff. And he felt euphoric as the air around him burst into song somehow. "Wow... wow. I think i've found my wand, then." He said, giving everyone a joyful smile. Ollivander, however, had lost his enthusiasm and was frowning at the boy.

"Curious, curious, very curious." Harry stiffened. _The way the creepy old man said it... almost like when Professor Robbins, the old science teacher, called atomic weapons 'interesting'._ "You know, Mister Potter, I remember every wand I have ever sold. And this wand, Mister Potter, this wand has a brother."

"And what about it, mister Ollivander?" Sarah asked, noticing the look of anxious apprehension Harry was desperately trying to hide.

"Why Mrs. Granger, the brother to Harry's wand... that wand was the one to give Harry his scar." The four people in the shop paled as they stared at the wand Harry was clutching in a death grip. "It did great things, that wand. Terrible, but great."

Harry looked at the old man, a glare on his features. "Say, Mister Ollivander..." "Yes?" "Was the owner's family name 'Riddle', by any chance?" Now it was the shopkeeper's turn to pale and stare at the boy. "And was whatever 'greatness' he did really in his blood when you met him? Was it that very 'greatness' that led him to kill my family and try and conquer the wizarding world? Do I have you to _thank_, Master Wandscraftsman, for putting him on that path then?" An ugly expression came over Harry's face, his anger fuelling the force running through him, almost overpowering all the connections he'd opened in an effort to dump the emotions into the Force before they got out of hand. "Tell me, please." He said, unconsciously emulating another smirk he'd encountered not long ago. _A smirk... no, a _grin _you couldn't help but feel belonged to something with a lot more teeth than a mere child_._ Let's see that old bastard deal with _that.

The elderly man stammered as he tried to stop himself from stuttering. "H-h-how- how d-d-d-do you even know this, Mister Potter?" Both him and Minerva were horrified at what was being said. Ollivander due to this child knowing about a conversation that had taken place almost sixty years ago, Minerva for finding out who You-know-who's real name was. _I remember him... we danced at the Italian Ministry Gala in honor of the '56 olympics. That man was Voldemort?_

Harry dropped any outward sign of emotion, letting his face become an expressionless mask. "All I am going to say about this is..." "How much for me and Hermione's wands, please, sir?"

The shopkeeper blinked, the panic quickly being replaced by the instincts of a man seeking to make a profit. "F-fourteen Galleons, mister Potter." 14 coins landed on the counter as the children grabbed the two gaping adults' hands "Thank you sir. Sucks when someone's being cryptic, doesn't it?" All Ollivander could do was wave goodbye at the group, still too stunned to answer adequately.

* * *

The four stopped outside, savouring the noonday sun as they pondered how their day had gone so far. They'd been in Diagon Alley for only three hours, but it almost felt like a lifetime for the four staring at yet more wizarding weirdness. Minerva, ironically, was having the hardest time of them all as she contemplated the incredibly colourful denizens of wizarding Britain's biggest shopping district. _An elder wand and the brother wand to You-Know-Who's own?_ She thought as the group was passed by a man wearing an orange jumpsuit listening to Polish chamber music coming out of two sunflowers he'd glued to his ears using a sticking charm. _These children will have a hard time of it here, if those wands are any indication._ She let her gaze travel up and down the alley, taking in the sights the tight street offered to her. She looked over at Sarah, who was doing the same. It struck her that this whole place, seeing how it is exhausting even to purebloods, must just be incredibly bizarre and frightening to the average parent of a muggleborn, no matter how open-minded she is.

"You know, it's just sinking in now-" Sarah said, waving in the general direction of an outdoor poker table occupied by what looked to be blue-scaled lizards, a banner proclaiming the need to save the South American Narflogant from extinction hovering above them. "-that this is the world I would be giving my daughter to." She wore a sad expression as she stared at the world passing the group by.

Minerva decided to interject. "Look, I know it feels that way, but your daughter will come back. It's just a boarding school, after all. Your daughter is still free to do whatever she wants afterwards. As I said, she'll even receive a scholarship to further her education after Hogwarts in whatever way she wants. Many muggles don't get that chance, mrs. Granger."

Sarah sighed, eyeing a man passing by with a trunk following him. The dull rumble from the trunk's tank treads gave her time to think about what was being said. "I know, it's just... she's so _young_, you know? I pictured this happening five, six years from now. Not September next year!" Minerva saw that the woman was close to tears. "I don't _want _to give her up so... early. It's just unfair." She said, staring down at the pavement.

The deputy headmistress patted her on the back. "Yes, but she will be going to the most exclusive school in all of Britain. It's still one of the best magical schools in Europe, and she will doubtlessly be at the top of her class both in terms of power and intelligence. Think of it as being admitted to, say, Eton. Or even a university, if you wish. Honestly, she _could_ get into these institutions now if she wanted to as well, and they would require her to do the same as Hogwarts; live at the school, or at least close by. It's a hard choice to make, sure, but she will get the best education that's out there this way." "Really?" "You have my word, mrs. Granger."

Sarah smiled. "Good." She eyed a passing troupe of dancing trousers curiously, a man in his underwear following close behind and waving his wand at them. _That's something you don't see every day._ "Hey, is it true that witches ride on broomsticks?"

Minerva smiled at the studiously blank face the woman was trying to project. "Why yes. I, myself, still own a Comet 140, you should know." Sarah snorted, the laughter getting the better of her. "Why Mrs. Granger, if I didn't know any better I would say that you are laughing at the fine tradition of broom flight! Why, a lady of good standing such as yourself would surely never debase yourself in such a way!" The mock scolding just drove Hermione's mother into further hysterics, even louder than Hermione's laugh at something Harry had told her.

After a few minutes, the elder Granger managed to compose herself. "I know, i'm sorry. I didn't mean to be cruel or mocking or anything, but I just couldn't help it! It's just so... cliché."

_Ah, so that's it_. Minerva smirked. Her and Severus had come up with the perfect comeback to this, having heard it so many times.

"Have you ever watched Citizen Kane, Sarah?"

The elder Granger was taken aback by the question that seemed to come from nowhere. "Yes, of course Professor. It's a classic. How do you know about it?" "What do you mean?" "Well, you don't seem to know a lot about anything in the normal world... I mean, the way you looked at the cars outside-"

Minerva chuckled "Picked up on that, have you? In my defence, I haven't had much to do in the muggle world for more than ten years, really. Only really come to visit muggleborns now, so most of my knowledge about muggle culture is extremely dated. Now, back to the topic. Have you ever noticed just how many clichés there were in the movie?"

Sarah looked for a second as she tried to remember the film. "Yeah, I have. But they were well used, though."

"Well, Sarah, those weren't clichés when they were filming that film. In fact, almost none of these 'clichés' existed in films when that film came out. And do you know why?"

"No, professor."

"It's because Orson Welles came up with those ideas. Citizen Kane was the film he used them in. That film _introduced_ the ideas behind those clichés little children." She noticed that the children had turned an ear towards her. "And, just like with Citizen Kane, you will find that all these clichés about magic exist because wizards and witches _invented them all_. Do you understand now?"

She smiled at the look Sarah gave the Head of Gryffindor house. "Good. Because I got that exact same speech years ago, when I confronted a muggle about how formulaic Citizen Kane was. And as they say, turnaround is fair play." The three newcomers to the wizarding world snickered.

"So does that mean we'll have to dance around naked during Sabbath, professor?" Harry quipped.

Minerva reared on the boy, who by all appearances was buffing his nails on his shirt. "WHAT? What did you just say young man?" The professor asked, disbelief and anger clear in her tone of voice.

Hermione just reached up and clipped the back of Harry's head. "I'm sorry about Harry, professor." She said in her sweetest 'I am innocent, you are innocent, let's all be innocent' tone of voice. "It's just that another commonly held Muggle belief was that witches would dance around naked for solstice rituals. That's probably what Harry was referring to, am I right _Harry_?"

He winced at the hissing voice and the glares all three women were sending his way. He then decided to smile in what he believed to be a placating manner. "Why yes, Hermione, yes indeed. You are Right, of course. That is exactly what I was referring to."

They weren't buying it. "You, young man, will serve a week's detention with me, come next year. Is that understood?" Minerva's voice could have frozen lava.

"Yes ma'am. I'll be good ma'am."

The smile he got back from all three women was anything but friendly. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about that. Hermione will keep you in line." Sarah said, putting both her hands on her daughter's shoulders. "Won't you, Hermione darling?"

Hermione's death glare and predatory smile told him everything he needed to know about his immediate future. "I would be delighted to, Mother dear. Harry -" cue super powered death glare "- will behave, i'll make sure of it."

Harry just sighed. He wondered why he even bothered with his Potter mouth. "Yes Hermione. I will behave."

Minerva smiled. "Good. Come on, then! We still have the bookstore to go to." and with that, the group of four strange individuals marched deeper into Diagon Alley, hands clamped firmly over their ears as they passed the Personallised Howler Delivery store. All in all, their day was turning out to be memorable.

* * *

**Aftermath: Minerva**

Albus Dumbledore's floo connection flared to life as he sat down to enjoy his nightly cup of tea."Ah, Minerva, and how was your day?" He said, eyes twinkling as he observed his second-in-command glare at him for some reason.

Professor McGonnagall, transfiguration teacher, head of Gryffindor house and deputy Headmistress, wordlessly slipped behind Albus's desk, opened the second drawer on the left, tapped on the drawer's fake bottom and withdrew a very old bottle from the now open compartment. She then conjured herself a glass, poured herself a shot, drank, poured herself another shot, drank again, put the bottle back in its place, left the Granger's acceptance letter on his desk and made to leave the room. Just as she reached the door, she stopped.

"My day, Albus, was a very long one. I am exhausted. We may talk about it tomorrow, when you are as ready to answer some of my questions as I am to tell you what happened. I warn you, Albus, that I have a store of Veritaserum on hand and have found a reason to use it. Good night, sir."

The Headmaster chuckled as his deputy slouched out of the office. It seemed that Minerva had forgotten just why senior staff were allowed to foist introduction duties off onto the current defence professor whenever they were 'otherwise occupied'. He was sure that tomorrow's debriefing would be interesting.

The sound of her footsteps echoed down the stairs as the door to the Headmaster's office slowly closed behind her. Thoughts about Harry, Hermione and destiny swirling around inside her head. She'd met shy children, boisterous children, spoilt brats and abused alley rats bearing the same message; you are special. But none, in her long career as a teacher, felt as special as those two did. _I think the next few years will be refreshing._ She thought to herself, smiling and whistling an old tune her grand-dad used to sing to her on stormy nights as she roamed the quiet corridors of her true home.

* * *

_A/N: And there you have it kiddies! Yet another chapter for your consumption. So that section's almost done, the last part of the Diagon Alley Day arc to post and then it's interlude + Hogwarts in chapter six! Finally! By the way, what do you guys think about me starting a sequel to the storyline right now? The working title is "Commander Creevey in the 71st century". The idea is this; _

_'The Creevey family are the only ones to somewhat successfully oppose the rulers of the Dread Empire, our very own Harry and Hermione. Of course, the only reason that there are still Creeveys running around the two's multi-galactic empire is because the Dread Lords have directed, shaped and manipulated the Creevey family to fit the air-headed heroing mold, sucking in all the rebels and malcontents of the empire under the banner of a clan that couldn't Lead them out of a paper bag.' _

_'Problem is that, after 5000 years of uninterrupted rule, the two perennially bored Heroes turned Dark Rulers finally lose power over their throne and are on the run from the very empire they created. Their only chance at recapturing their empire before it crumbles into a civil war likely to span dozens of galaxies and millions of worlds? One Aldo Creevey, hero-for-hire and commander of the mercenary Cruiser Ivanhoe. Things are about to get dicey.'_

_So, any thoughts?_


	5. Minerva's Big Day conclusion: Books

Chapter 5: Minerva's Big Day: The Bookshop

_**Disclaimer**: I don't own Harry Potter or any affiliated trademarks. If I did, I would give them to Terry Pratchett, Neil Stephenson, Eliezer Yudkowsky, Tom Holt & Iain M Banks and say 'make something out of this, please'. Nor do I own any other material you may recognise from other sources. Of course, what you don't recognise may be mine, but may also belong to someone you never heard of. There, I think that covers it. Enjoy._

**A/N**: _Okay, so the results are in for the idea of writing a sequel now. There were a few no's, one very vehement no (politely answered, mind you), a few yeses and a maybe. Pfeil's maybe decided it. I won't be writing that sequel, i'm afraid. I will, however, be working on one for future writing. But hey, you can always look forward to more of this, you know. And now, onwards!_

* * *

_'House elves are one of the few magical species known to have been purposefully created by wizards. They came into being following Thelonious The Mad's research into magically enhanced cleaning equipment-' _Hermione just shook her head as she leafed through the strange book. What she'd seen of the books on offer in the magical world so far had both thrilled and exasperated her. How an entire culture could be simultaneously brilliant enough to have close to a million books for sale in the one bookshop yet be stupid enough not to include even a chapter summary for her textbooks was beyond her. Then again, she was in a world that had somehow created a whole new species when researching how to build the magical version of a vacuum cleaner. If she were sentimental, that fact alone would make her want to cry and tear off the shackles of the poor, downtrodden, three foot nothing magical maids.

She replaced _'House elves-why it ISN'T slavery'_ on its shelf and turned her attention back to the task at hand. The section on wizarding culture was tiny compared to the other subjects on offer, barely breaching a thousand tomes. And yet, it was supposed to cover everything anyone wanted to find out about the wizarding world. There were tomes on recent history, political ideologies, wizarding economy (Harry'd laughed at '_The _g_oblins; banking from Hell'_), common law, wizarding traditions, family histories... the sheer scope of information contained in this one section alone was staggering. And yet, there was nothing really useful to a beginner. It was almost like everyone had been too eager to address just one aspect of Magical Britain in-depth and had completely forgotten to write a book that would allow those not blessed with massive amounts of inherited knowledge to actually find out what they needed to. But at least there was something useful there.

The section containing all the magical books written on wizarding math was, to put it kindly, mediocre. For a young girl already bravely storming the shores of calculus, arithmancy and magical geometry were almost too easy. They considered Numerology an actual mathematically valid field! The numbers were guesswork, for crying out loud! Mom had been particularly scathing when delving into the advanced arithmantic principles section, muttering about how gormless one had to be to settle for matrix-based statistical forecasting when dealing with spells. There was almost nothing written down on the physics behind the Force. Hermione could tell there were rules to how 'magic' was supposed to work, she'd seen them in action and interacted with the Force often enough to recognise what kind of reaction a particular action would provoke. How could they expect people to actually use arithmancy to predict what effect a 'spell' will have if they have no theoretical reference point to base that prediction on? All they're doing is modelling the spell's outcome without providing information on how to model its origins.

Questions like where the Force comes from, how it interacts with various types of conduits, what variables affect the Force, none of these questions were answered in any of the books she'd picked up. The best reference she'd found was a 17th-century 'how-to' guide for spell-crafting and curse-breaking procedures, and even then it amounted to 'magic comes from thingy, is stored by whatsit and is somehow channelled from point A to point B'. The few physics books on display were all university textbooks dating back 20 years and all buried in the references section for a subject called 'muggle studies'.

Harry and Mom were in agreement with her; normal science books, though inaccurate if the existence of the Force is taken at face value, were better for the more advanced contents available. At the very least she could advance the field of arithmancy immeasurably if she were to apply some of the fuzzier math to spells analysis.

She signalled Mom that she was ready to move on and go through a new section, the books she wanted about wizarding culture and traditions weighing heavily in the basket she was clutching. She moved over to check on her Apprentice.

"Harry..." The boy turned around to look at her, an unreadable expression on his face. She looked at the book he was clutching in his hands. _Great Wizarding events of the twentieth century_. She smiled at him. "Good book, then?" Wordlessly, he handed her the book, finger firmly placed on a page near the back. She skimmed the title at the top of the page, her expression quizzical. "The end of the 'Blood' War- the legend of The Boy Who Lived..." Which is when her gaze took in the black & white picture underneath the introductory paragraph. A couple was smiling, a young toddler held up between the two. That was another oddity she'd come across, magical pictures in books were animated to display a ten second loop. The Force weaves were simple, yet incredibly complex in their interactions with each other and she'd yet to actually try and think about how one worked in-depth. In this picture, the parents mouthed something that looked like 'smile' or 'cheese', grinned like lunatics at the picture and then hauled the toddler into the air. The man looked incredibly familiar to her. After the loop started again, she shifted her gaze to the caption underneath the photo and gasped.

_James Potter, 20, Harry Potter, 1, Lily Evans-Potter, 20, picture taken at Hogwarts class of 1977 reunion, Hogsmeade, August 1980 (last known family picture)._

She went back to skimming the page.

'_September to October 1981 marked the bloodiest phase of the Wizarding War. The estimated casualties over that two month period was higher than the combined total of the previous six months of intensive campaigning by Ministry forces against the terrorist organisation known colloquially as Death Eaters. Three major battles took places during this period, namely the Dunhill raid, the Knight Bus Depot ambush and the fourteenth Hogsmeade massacre. Total wizarding casualties are estimated at around the two and a half thousand mark, with over one thousand seven hundred wizarding civilians caught in the crossfire. Of these, approximately five hundred remains were identified as being under the age of ten, though at the time of publication only around two hundred have been positively identified as children of wizarding descent. Ministry and Death Eater casualties are considered to be at parity. By the end of October 1981, the ministry was no longer technically able to enforce martial law across the British Isles.'_

_'With a total force of four hundred hit wizards and one hundred and fifty Aurors able to dispense their duties by September the first 1981, the total number of combat-capable wizards had been halved since the official start of hostilities on January 17th 1979. By November the first, that number had been halved again. No longer able to pursue their primary responsibility, it is unlikely that the Ministry of Magic would have survived the winter season. Therefore, the reactions following the events of Halloween 1981 are perfectly understandable in hindsight.' _

_'The Dark Lord **he-who-must-not-be-named** (name redacted by Ministry classifications board) attacked a small cottage on the outskirts of Godric's Hollow, Wales. The actual events within the House remain a mystery to this day. What is known, however, is that the attack cost the lives of James Potter, age 21, Lily Evans-Potter, age 21 and the Dark Lord, age unknown. The sole survivor was one Harry James Potter, aged one and a half (appr.) who, after medical examination following the attack, was found to have survived the killing curse. A one year old child had saved Wizarding Britain from a new Dark Age. The news was greeted with much euphoria and breaches of the Statute of Secrecy (see appendix for references on the so-called Celebration Trials), though the follow-up investigation revealed no significant reason for the survival of the child. Following the Longbottom Manor Raid on November second 1981, Harry James Potter, now known as the Boy Who Lived, disappeared. It is as yet unknown as to whether or not he has survived to enjoy the peace his sacrifice and the sacrifice of his parents brought to Wizarding Britain._'

"This is the first time i've seen a picture of them, you know". She looked into his green eyes, filled with pain she had never seen in those orbs. "He-he looks so much like me..." Was all he got out before she hugged him. Mom turned around, wondering what all the fuss was about. After receiving a questioning glance, Hermione handed the book over to her. She gasped as she read the page, eyes watering as she looked at the crying form buried in her daughter's shoulder. He pulled away. "I'm sorry." He sniffed "I seem to have ruined your outfit."

She smiled at him. "Oh Harry, it's okay." Her friend nodded at her and smiled back. "Now come on, this place still has _loads_ more stuff we need to check out." They found McGonnagall near the end of the section, still dabbing at her eyes as they drew up to her. Clearly, she'd been keeping an eye on them. "You look awfully tired, Professor. Are you okay?"

Minerva just nodded at her. "Yes, yes. It's just these allergies acting up, you know" she sniffed "terrible time for 'em, ye ken." Hermione just nodded at her, not missing the sad look she threw towards Harry when he wasn't looking her way. The old woman smiled "Now then, anything else you want to have a look at, young lady?"

Both of the children brightened at the prospect. "Fiction!" They said at practically the same time. The two adults chuckled at that.

* * *

The group's trek through the magical creatures section had been... interesting. It was hard to consider it boring, at the very least. The massive rack of shelves they passed through boasted titles such as _'Dragons! And how to avoid them', 'Arrakian Worms and their quirks', 'Scamander's guide on how to not get eaten'_ and '_Nundus; terrors of the Serengeti_', after all. And if that weren't enough, there were always the odd books that tried to jump into the baskets, nip at prising fingers and ambush unsuspecting hat-wearers. Minerva had, after much deliberation and being slobbered on by a book on the care of Crup puppies, decided to put her foot down and shooed the three rubbernecks through at top speed. Though the encyclopaedia of Dark creatures defending its territory definitely helped in increasing their browsing speed a fair bit, it still took them five minutes to reach the Fiction section. The two adults left them to their own devices, handing both of them maps and telling them to meet them at the counter in half an hour.

Hermione and Harry entered the section on children's fiction cautiously, the bruises given to them by the Bicorn compendium having left them a bit weary of approaching shelves they weren't completely familiar with. Hermione just browsed the titles, slightly disappointed at what she found. Not one science fiction book in sight, anywhere. After fifteen minutes of browsing up and down shelves, leafing through promising titles and gawking at strange covers, there wasn't a single mention on space travel, other worlds or even underwater adventures.

There was, however, a remarkably wide selection of what would have passed for science fiction back in the days of Jules Verne; tales of mad Muggle scientists, airships, heroic wizards rescuing damsels from crude-looking bunkers, most of them boasting magical gadgets that had been in use in the normal world for decades. Hermione wondered why steam engines seemed such a fantastic idea to the children of wizarding Britain. Didn't they know that such technology had been out of use since the end of the second world war? Why did they consider locomotives such a radical idea?

Harry, on the other hand, was having a different problem altogether. Almost every third book they came across boasted titles such as 'Harry Potter and the Sons of Morgana', 'the Boy-Who-Lived and the revenge of the muggle savages' or 'Harry and the Demented Dragon Farm'. He was confused. Just where did they get these stories from? Why did they use his name in such a weird manner? And Dragons? He had never even _seen_ a Dragon in real life, not that he'd say no to being able to see one up close. In his opinion, they were the next best thing to dinosaurs and, therefore, the Coolest Thing Ever. And here was a book describing how he'd slaughtered hundreds of the beasts at age five. What did they think he was, a monster? The most heroic thing he'd done at that age was finish cleaning the flower beds in under two hours, not kill innocent creatures for some badly defined reason! "Hermione."

The girl turned around to look at her study partner. "Yes?"

"I think it's time to formulate a hypothesis about the wizarding world."

She looked over at him, genuinely curious. "And? What is your hypothesis, oh studious one?" He looked her in the eye, mirth dancing in both their eyes.

"They're mad. All of them. The wizarding world is insane." Hermione smiled and dropped into a stance of mock thoughtfulness, stroking her chin with her thumb and gesturing for him to continue. "I mean, first there was all that fuss at Ollivander's, this weird shopping district, the bank... you have to admit, they're not really all there up there, are they?" She chuckled, not really able to keep up the pretense any longer.

"Alright, young one. Good points, you have." she said, clearly enjoying her little Yoda-ism for the day. "But every hypothesis needs a counter hypothesis, an opposite if you will, for it to be testable. And the counter hypothesis is-" _dramatic pose_ "-that these wizards are the sane ones, and that we're the mad people!" Harry couldn't help it, he laughed. Trust Hermione to come up with something so blatantly untrue. "But now" she said, expression mock thoughtful once again "we need to test it."

Wordlessly, Harry handed her a book titled '_Harry Potter and the beings from Australia_'. It had a picture of a muscle-bound ten year old, clutching a bloody sword and standing on top a pile of things with teeth. "Look at this. I seem to be into leather pants, humungous swords and 'buxom' wenches." Hermione's grin threatened to take her head off. "I don't know whether I am being flattered or insulted here. I think I will have to look up what buxom means to figure it out. And wenches. Say, do you know what wenches are, Hermione?" She couldn't help it, she really couldn't. Laughter. Floor rolling. Harry's work was done. "So, insane. Valid hypothesis?" She nodded. "Oh yes, definitely" He smiled at his bushy-haired friend and companion, indicating her to take the lead in scouting out other book shelves.

"Errm, excuse me?" Harry whirled around, surprise at being blindsided written on his face. The offender recoiled under the stare, wondering whether it was a good idea to approach these two. It was a child around Harry's age, pudgy build, brown hair and a disposition that clearly said that he desperately wanted to be anywhere but in front of the worryingly intense gaze the kid with the worn clothing and ridiculous hat was subjecting him to. "I-I'm lost. Can you help me? I'm looking for the Potions and Alchemy section". Harry's gaze softened at that. No doubt this was a fellow new-comer, oddly dressed to blend in with the crazies. "Hermione, can you please come here for a second?" Harry called over to the browsing brunette. She sighed, put the book down and came over, expression demanding an explanation. "This kid is looking for the Potions section."

She looked over at the squirming pre-teen, questions running through her head. Why didn't he ask an adult? Why was he in the Fiction section when academic subjects were generally on the other side of the store? What is his name? Time to find out... She smiled at the shy boy. "Hello" she said, noting the abashed look her smile elicited. "Correct me if i'm wrong, but your name wouldn't be Rincewind, by any chance, would it?" Harry shot her an angry gaze, a frustrated 'Hermioneee, behave' escaping his mouth. "What? He certainly looks like a Rincewind to me." She said, fake smile growing wider at his exasperated growl.

The younger boy looked at her questioningly. "Rincewind? No, my name's Neville-Neville Longbottom." He said, a nervous smile breaking through the worried frown he'd sported seconds ago. "Pleased to meet you." He held out his hand. Hermione shook it, a mumbled 'likewise' accompanying the gesture. Harry followed up with the same procedure. "My grand-uncle always says to shake hands when you first meet muggle-borns. Says it's polite." Harry and Hermione exchanged significant looks. This was the first 'wizarding' child the two had actually had time to talk to. In other words, he'd just volunteered to be their test-bed.

"Huh" Hermione said. "I was sure that you were from the normal world, like us." The Longbottom kid bristled at the statement before calming himself and smiling at her. "Why" he asked "would you believe that?".

Harry cut in. "Oh, it's just that we would expect a wizard-born to know their way around here better than we do. Not to mention that a wizard-born would know where to find-" he said, brandishing a colourful-looking piece of paper "- a map. Hence why we took you for one of us back there."

"No, I mean -" he said, clearly struggling with expressing himself correctly. "- why would you think us wizards weren't normal? I mean, we're people too, you know?" oh, he was getting into his stride now. "And I don't get out a lot, which is why I get lost in bookshops. But why do you think we're not normal?"

The two looked at the flustered boy confronting them in the middle of a section on magical sports. "Well Neville," Hermione said "This is all so _new_ to us, you know. Nothing we've seen so far is really normal from where we come from. It doesn't make a lot of sense to me..."

Neville snorted at that, any shyness gone from his features. Harry decided to step in. "Look Neville, we really didn't mean to come across as rude back there, but this is the first time we've set foot in the magical world. And you're the first wizarding child to actually take the time to approach us. From your perspective, we might as well be tourists from France or some other foreign country."

Hermione nodded, though she clearly needed to explain the concept of foreign to her Apprentice in more detail later on. "That's right. Not to mention that Diagon Alley is a bit... _eccentric_, shall we say? I mean, you have the odd-looking buildings-"

"-the full-size pyramid perched on the roof back there-"

"-the floating mimes-"

"-that odd man selling yellow and purple sausages-"

"-the hags selling body parts in broad daylight-"

"-the cat juggler-"

"-not to mention the organ 'donation'-" she said, air quoting for good measure "-store-"

"-that shop selling flying broomsticks-"

"- the cauldron shop selling solid gold cauldrons-"

"-Needless to say, it's a bit much for us. Nothing like what we expected, you know. And _this_" Harry said, indicating the store in general and '_Quidditch through the ages' _in particular. "Is filled with things we've never even heard of! I mean, it's great, but we need time to get used to it."

"Ah, I understand." Neville said, clearly not understanding very well. "Is it like when I go to the muggle world and see that metal slug ferry underground, the massive brooms flying above and that cathedral-looking building with the giant clock out front?" Hermione, twitching to correct the boy, reined in her innate desire for accuracy and just nodded at him. "Then I _do_ understand." The boy said. "Your normal is not my normal, right?" Both heads nodded as the trio started walking again. "And it will probably become normal to you over time, right?" Again, the nods came. "Then don't worry about it. Once we finish Hogwarts, all this will be normal to you too."

Harry, privately disagreeing with that statement, merely asked. "Why would that be? And how do you know that we are going to Hogwarts? We only found out a few hours ago" _though it felt like a lifetime ago_ "so how did you know?"

Neville just smiled shyly at the two while Harry pulled Hermione away from the history of submarine hockey section. "Well, you wouldn't be here unless you or one of your relatives went to Hogwarts, not to mention that you are both carrying complete sets of Hogwarts books" he said, indicating the baskets the two were lugging around. "and you are _trying_ to talk to me in a friendly manner. Though, between you and me, you need to work harder on that. As for this being _normal-_" Neville said, in the haughty aristocratic drawl his grandmother had coached him on for years "-let's just say that you haven't seen anything yet." The trio walked in silence, Harry and Hermione contemplating what their little window into the wizarding world was telling them and Neville being in awe at the daring he'd displayed in front of the two muggleborn.

Harry looked at the section they'd stopped in front of, cross-referencing the shelf number with the map in his hands. "Aaand here we are!" He said, waving a hand in direction of the books. "Potions, Alchemy and... Chemistry, surprisingly. Here-" he handed the map over to their first wizarding acquaintance "-Hermione's got a spare one, and the nice lady at the counter can give you one if you need it, okay?" Longbottom smiled at them, mouthing a quick thank you before looking at the shelves. "I guess this is goodbye until next year, then."

Neville just shifted guiltily, a sad look on his face. "Yeah, next year... Say, I didn't catch your names back there." The two exchanged a look that made the pudgy kid in front of them a tad nervous again, all previous bravado gone at the sly grins that stretched across their faces. The girl went first. "My name" she said, striking a pose for effect "is Hermione Granger. Pleased to meet you."

The boy stepped forward. "And I" he said, lifting the brim of his fedora to display a scar just above his right eyelid. Neville gasped. The scar. It was _the_ scar! "Am Harry Potter. See you later, Neville Longbottom. Until we meet again..." And at that, the two strange children sauntered away, laughing at poor Neville's reaction.

"What?" The pudgy boy repeated to himself over and over again, a dumbfounded looking lodged so deeply on his face it might as well be paying rent. "What?"

* * *

"Had fun, you two?" Sarah asked, smiling at her two mischievous charges. The way those two were grinning... Minerva was scanning the store, looking like she was trying to determine which parts of it were currently on fire. She herself was itching to ask just what the two had done to merit such a devious-looking smirk, but she did not really want to know anymore. She sighed. Those two had been more trouble in the past few hours than they'd been in the past four years.

"Oh yes. It was... educational" Harry said, the uncharacteristic smirk and attitude telling her that yes, she _really_ didn't want to know at this point. "Did you know that I was a celebrity in wizarding Britain? That fiction section was... _interesting_." Hermione's grin merely widened.

"Oh dear God." Minerva muttered to herself, though not quietly enough that Sarah missed it. "Just what have I done?" Sarah couldn't help but sympathise with the poor Professor. If this was what a couple of hours would do to little Harry, normally polite and self-effacing to a fault, she was very glad indeed that she wasn't there to witness what he would be like during his Hogwarts years. Though, looking at Hermione, she wondered which of the two Hellions was more likely to introduce Wizarding Britain to the wonders of atomic warfare.

She knew her daughter, oh yes. She hadn't missed how her and Harry got along, with Hermione helping Harry with his life and Harry waiting on her hand and foot in exchange. And right now, the calculating look she was giving the only friend Sarah had ever heard her making did not bode well for the future. Sarah could always count on Harry to rein her in when she was being rude, or bossy, or flinging her contempt at people that annoyed her in their face. And if worst came to worst, Harry would defend her, tooth and nail. If he stopped doing that... if he _joined_ her... she started to get the feeling that maybe, just maybe, Hogwarts was a bad idea for the two of them. But anyway-

"Find any good books, dears?" The lady manning the counter asked the two. She received to bulging baskets full of books, so full in fact that the expansion and featherlight charms were failing under the stress. "Oh my, why you two must really enjoy books then!" the elderly witch said enthusiastically. Sarah could practically hear the witch tallying what probably amounted to her weekly salary in books inside her head with a beatific expression. She processed the books, tapping her wand on a stone tablet bordered by runic symbols Sarah's University mates would have killed to get their hands on. Finally, after a few minutes' worth of tapping and pinging sounds, a mist rose from the tablet and formed themselves into a set of numbers above the counter. "Ah!" the lady intoned "That's 115 galleons and eleven sickles, gents! And some complimentary carry bags for the four of you." Harry wordlessly dipped his hands into the pouch, retrieved three sacks & eleven silver coins and handed them over to the pleased witch. "Thank you, young man. And please come again! If you ever need anything, ask for Alicia Pince, okay? I'd be glad to assist you." The group nodded their thanks and stepped into the afternoon sunshine.

Vapour from the excess heat of noon was rising off the pentagonal cobblestones, the smells of the Alley intermixing with the smell of gasoline coming from the road less than fifty metres behind the book store. The lunchtime crowds were thinning out and the various entertainers, thugs, hooligans and crazies that distracted the tourists and wizards going for a bite to eat were lounging around, enjoying their own break from the frenetic weirdness they produced in the alley. Sarah shifted the weight of the book bag around, idly gazing at the hovering mimes enjoying a quiet smoke outside a pink teashop of some kind. They hadn't bothered turning off whatever they used for hovering, as both them and the table they occupied were currently suspended three feet above ground while the owner of the store levitated their orders up to them. She shook herself, determined to keep an open mind despite all the weirdness she'd witnessed today, and caught up with the group.

"So what now?" Her daughter asked, looking tired from the day she'd had. In fact, she looked almost as tired as Sarah felt. Almost. Sarah eyed the list she had taken to carrying after Harry almost lost it outside the trunk shop, ticking off everything that her daughter needed to go to Hogwarts. Books, check. Wand, check. Clothes, check. Trunk- she looked over at Professor McGonnagall, who'd done the sensible thing and stashed her part of the book caravan inside a wood and leather box on wheels- check. Cauldron, check. Potions and magical gardening supplies, check. Broom- no, no broom for first years, so check. Sarah looked up, surprised. Everything they'd needed to buy was now bought. Their shopping trip was finally done with. She almost jumped with joy. Next year, no matter what, she was dragging Kyle with her. See how _he_ enjoyed being bodily thrown down the bloody rabbit hole for a change.

"Now, my dear." Sarah said "It's time for your birthday." And there was much rejoicing. "Professor, do you want to stay and enjoy a piece of cake before going back to Hogwarts?" The witch smiled at her, nodding her head to indicate that yes, she really needed to relax before going back to her school. "Alright then. Hermione, can you and Harry Displace the two of us please? We're feeling a bit peaked right now."

The last she saw of Diagon Alley that year was her daughter's happy smile and clutching hand. "Love to Mum." And then she got squeezed through the fabric of time and space again. Wasn't magic fun?

* * *

Aftermath: The presents

Minerva was stretched out on the couch she'd passed out on earlier that day, her teacher's hat lying on the table while she tried to find an excuse for taking off the conical paper thing they'd replaced it with. She sighed as she reminded herself of what she was, took out her wand and transfigured it into something more presentable. Odd, the hat stayed conical. She must be more tired than she thought.

She eyed the two children sitting together, going back over the thoughts she'd had when meeting them. The girl was clearly very intelligent, observant and shrewd. The boy was as well, though he was also a lot more aware of what to say and how to say it. It was clear to her that those two were more than mere friends. They weren't quite brother and sister, but their relationship was far deeper than they let on. Minerva sighed. She shouldn't be surprised, she really shouldn't. They acted as if they were alone in the world, one having only eyes for the other. Idly, she wondered when they'd realise that they weren't just friends any more. Or if they already did realise this.

Hermione was everything Minerva looked for in a student; studious, determined and a bit (okay, a lot) more stubborn than her peers. But she was also... prickly. She had a lot of her father in her, from the small amount of time Minerva had talked to the man. She didn't react to unexpected change that well, and took it out on Harry or on whatever aspect of the changes offended her. No, that wasn't quite right. She didn't like being scared of new things, and what Minerva had seen of the girl told the old witch that Hermione was scared of... something. Maybe not to do with the wizarding world, but it was definitely associated with it. As for her friend...

Harry Potter. It had been nine years since the day of the doorstep, as she'd come to call it. Nine years of worrying about the son of two of her most brilliant charges. How she'd allowed Dumbledore to do what he'd done, she honestly couldn't figure out. And, according to things Hermione and Sarah had let slip during their trip and the way Harry acted around people, she could tell that she'd made the wrong decision that day.

Death Eaters would only kill the boy. By the looks of things, those Muggles had come close to destroying him. She shuddered to think of what he had gone through, was still going through if Minerva had heard right.

And yet, here he was, all smiles and politeness. Laughing with Sarah and Hermione at Kyle's antics, drinking tea and eating biscuits like there was no tomorrow. If anything, the boy was a _very_ good actor. She wondered how Severus would react when she told him that he was everything he'd look for in a Slytherin. And here he was, handing a muggleborn what looked like-

"Harry, where did you find those?" The young boy startled, a worried look crossing his face at her astonished tone. Hermione looked at him questioningly, a curious glint in her eye.

"Well, while Hermione was being fitted for a wand, I went to explore Ollivander's shop." He said thinking about how to broach the subject. "And there-there was this door..." And so he told them about the back of Ollivander's shop, the weird books, the amazing sights through the window, the jewels on display, those two watches, another Ollivander fitting a scary boy called Riddle with a wand like his own-

"Riddle?" the elderly witch asked, face paling at what the boy had just said. Was he saying-

"Yes, and he was scary! That look- his eyes..." Harry clamped up. "Anyway, so I ran out back to the front after _that. _And then Ollivander fitted me with a wand and there was that discussion... I forgot to pay him for these" indicating a stack of absolutely priceless artifacts casually offered to his best friend as a birthday gift. "But I will go back tomorrow and pay him! I swear, Professor I didn't mean to forget!"

The old witch forced a worried smile on her face. "Don't worry Harry. Ollivander wouldn't want payment for these if you tried. It seems that they've found their rightful owners."

Hermione looked down at the beautiful watch now adorning her left wrist, a calculating look on her face. "What do you mean, Professor?"

Minerva just shook her head. "Not my place to tell you, lass. Just... just take very good care of these, please. That watch alone is worth more money than Harry had in his vault." Now it was Hermione's turn to look astonished. She turned to her sheepish-looking friend and caught him in a bear hug, muffled 'thank yous' and 'best birthday present ever' reaching his befuddled ears.

Sarah and Kyle drifted back into the room, utterly oblivious to what had just transpired. Harry and Hermione completely forgot about the discussion, thanks to the placating power of cake. Minerva munched away, thoughts whirling around just why so many odd things seemed to happen around these two.

And, in the back of her mind, she knew that, no matter what the future held for those two, Minerva would be glad to help them get there. They would do great things. And Minerva swore to herself that she would try and keep the 'terrible' to a minimum, a feat her predecessor had badly failed at. She wondered if Sarah still had more of that cake...

_**A/N**: Surprise Longbottom! Weren't expecting that, were you? For those wondering why Neville is a bit more forward than in canon, he isn't. It's just that the terrible duo pushed his buttons and had it been, say, Ron or Draco, it would have ended in a fist fight. Neville, being the shy introvert of the early series, is as passive as his pride allowed him to be with the two tourists bad-mouthing his country. And so concludes this arc, wonderful thing that it is. Up next, we have chapter six, featuring interludes and train rides! Stay tuned..._


	6. Interlude: A year well spent

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. This is blatantly obvious since Molly Weasley would be my last choice when choosing a character through which to channel Ellen Ripley. **_

* * *

_A/N: Nope, no train ride and/or sorting yet. Just introducing the players a bit more and setting the scene, as it were, for the story arc coming up now. Until then, enjoy!_

_"The veil of death is not, as most others have stipulated, a portal to a parallel universe. Rather, it is a doorway to a dimension inside this universe, one where matter moves faster than the speed of light. When a person steps through the portal, they 'die' by virtue of no longer existing inside our normal set of dimensions. They get thrown, rather violently mind, out of the dimension at a random spot in time. There is a limit to this, however; one, the person is not guaranteed to survive the travel. Two, the spot in time HAS to be a time during which the Veil exists, not before, not after. Apart from that, anything else (person's clothing, equipment, location, magical ability, health) is completely random, with the veil traveler never emerging wearing what they went through the archway with. Truly, this fascinating discovery promises to shed new light on my research into the limits of magic. Could it be that magic actually transcends the physical limits imposed upon the rest of the universe?"_

_Unspeakable 'Enkidu', notes taken Thursday the [data expunged] during conference given by [data expunged] on the properties of [data expunged]. Code name Enkidu was deactivated the following day. Reason; walked through [data expunged]._

_Excerpt taken from [data expunged, gamma classification, eyes only]_

Interlude: A year well spent

Stonewall Primary, October 21st 1990

Over the years, as Harry became an ever harder target to catch up with, Dudley and his gang of sycophants had switched to bullying the new children that came in at the beginning of the school year, often targeting the richest and fattest students for free food and lunch money. That changed two years ago, when Piers Polkiss led a breakaway faction of the gang and started targeting Dudley's followers for the money they'd scavenged off the younger years. Not out of any sense of altruism, mind you, just that Piers was fed up with being the guy doing all the work while Dudley berated him for his poor performance at catching the young and nimble firsties and taking all their stuff. Piers still kept the money and sweets, he just targeted other bullies instead of the kids directly.

His strategy was simple; let Dudley shake down the kids during morning break, then corner Alex Wantley, the gang's court jester and all-around coward, who would then point to who'd got the most money and where they would be hanging out come lunchtime. Come lunchtime, Piers would catch the lucky minion in the bathroom and steal the sweets and money from him while the rest of the gang harassed ickle Duddykins and his followers into distraction. Which would be followed by two weeks' worth of Dudley's gang travelling in pairs and attempting to be smart before they let their guard down again and Piers got lucky again. And it worked wonders, with Dudley's gang now targeting every kid younger than them in school, with only the extremely poor, the incredibly thin, those related to school staff and the legendary Untouchables escaping their clutches.

* * *

As for Dudley, he'd figured out what Piers was doing within months, thanks to some well-placed words with Mum and Dad. He'd had to frame it differently and become part of the business club (which promptly shut down after he'd spent a month attending) to keep his parents from realising what he was up to, but it had worked. A... talk with Alex about loyalty later and Piers went from being a potential rival to being a useful source of motivation for his gang as well as a tool that could be used to keep down potential challengers. Why, Dudley even arranged for a 'secret stash' to be discovered by Piers on the rare occasions that his followers behave themselves too well for too long. Wouldn't do for Dudders to lose such a valuable asset, now would it? However, as with most things in Dudley Dursley's life, his cousin and the beaver-faced wonder were about to muck things up for him again.

Christian Munroe, all of ten years old, was not what you would call a stupid boy. He knew that joining the local gang of bullies would get him two things; protection from said schoolyard bullies and more sweets. During the first few years of school, it hadn't seemed worth it really. He was far too thin and far too scrawny to be considered anything but prey to Dudley and his gang.

If anything, his tousled black hair precluded him from even applying, thanks to Dudley's little freak cousin's hairstyle. Still, this was a big school campus with plenty of places to hide, so Christian became intimately familiar with every nook and cranny too small for a Dudleyman to notice.

And then Piers had turned on Dudley two years ago, taking most of the gang's runners with him.

To be honest, Christian thought that the two would start fighting each other over territory and leave the other kids alone. That's what the gangs did over in the US, so why not in Surrey too? But it didn't happen. If anything, Dudley's gang started leaning on the kids more and more while Piers looked on from the sidelines. He remembered the girl in the grade below him, that year's top dog, trying to push into Dudley's turf with her own motley crew, only to have her gang taken over by Piers of all people!

Why did Piers not sit on the sidelines, like he normally did with his gang, before taking out Dudley and her at the same time? Why didn't he just ally himself with the girl and push Dudley out altogether? It had been a bitter blow to the younger bullies eyeing Dudley's turf, while the older ones looked on in wonder at the boy who'd turned a mutiny amongst his hangers-on into a strong organisation that worked almost seamlessly.

And then there'd been the recruitment drive. Both Dudley's boys and Pierce's boys started approaching others in their class, 'offering' membership to those they wanted in the gang. There were clear differences between the two; Dudley only accepted boys, for example. Piers 'tested' those that joined his gang with the intention of weeding out those that couldn't take what they gave others. Dudley favored 'big' kids, fat and large enough to deal with any resistance thrown his gang's way. Piers liked having runners, fast and vicious little blighters that ran circles around the larger bullies. Dudley needed a lot of manpower in order to harvest the younger kids' food and money while Piers needed only a few members that were good at what they did, good enough to take on those larger and more numerous than them and walk away with that group's money. Christian had looked at both, weighed the pros and cons of membership and decided to go for the brains. Dudley it was.

He laughed to himself, enjoying the irony of the situation. He'd joined Dudley because he reckoned Dudley was simply too smart to keep an enemy around that preyed on his gang members, and he'd been right. It was now clear to every gang member that Dudley could talk Piers into cornering those that had angered the Dursley kid, with the resulting beatings and money loss proving to be a major deterrent to anyone thinking about disobeying the King. And Christian had watched, listened and nodded when the King himself came down amongst his subjects, whispering to them about what the kid had done to deserve such a fate. And then gone right back to shaving a portion of his daily take off the top and stashing it in a small, shadowy corner of a disused janitor's closet. He'd amassed quite a stash too, with over a hundred pounds and a full jar of sweets to his name before one of Dudley's lieutenants found out.

Now he was running from Piers and his gang, trying to make it to the sports grounds before his pursuers caught up with him. No matter how dumb Piers was, even Polkiss would avoid tackling with the gangs in their final year just for some extra pocket money. If he could make it, the clearing surrounded by blackthorn bushes on all sides would provide ample cover. If he could make it, he could bury his stash and allow Piers to catch only a small amount of money, allowing him to take the rest home and enjoy it when the time was right. It all hinged on getting past the maths & history building before he could be cut off by Piers's runners.

"There you are!" Everard Benson shouted, somehow appearing a mere twenty metres in front of him. _Damn!_ Christian thought. He was cut off. His only chance now was in the abandoned workshop building, vacated around the same time Chris had started classes here. The front door may be locked, but he knew for a fact that one of the windows on the ground floor around the back was open. It was risky, especially if there were any teachers grabbing a smoke around there, but if it was a choice between that and losing all of his hard-earned money, he'd take detention any day of the week. He turned left and legged it.

* * *

"Hey! Hey you guys!" Benson shouted, drawing _everyone's_ attention to both himself and Piers. "He went that way!" Christian accelerated, passing a group of Dudleymen, his supposed friends, all looking at him with a smug smile on their faces. _Bastards_, he thought as he rounded a corner and almost got bowled over by a football player, _ you sodding bastards._ _There_, he thought, his breathing getting heavier and heavier as he took a look at the abandoned building in front of him. _ Now where was that sodding window again-Ah!_ He ducked between two trees and disappeared around the back of the building.

He pushed the window around the back open and flung himself into an empty room. He had bought himself some time, but it wasn't enough if the sounds of his pursuers were anything to go by. He looked around, caught off-guard by the room he found himself in. Everything in the room was _clean_, cleaner than even the main buildings were! No peeling paint, no outdated fittings, even the light bulb on the ceiling looked brand new.

He could see the normally grime-covered ceiling fixtures clearly, the carving of leafy vines snaking around the room's corners, occasionally reaching down the wall and across the ceiling to where the light fixtures were. As he was admiring the recently cleaned blackboard adorning the far wall of the room, a silent pop echoed up and down the hallway just outside of the room. The door opened in front of him to reveal the very last person he wanted to meet in an abandoned building today standing there.

"Ah, Christian." His bushy-haired classmate exclaimed. "So it's you that we have to thank for all that racket outside?" she said, indicating the shuffling of locks and banging of doors as the Polkiss gang looked for a way in. He gulped as he caught sight of Dudley's diminutive cousin, silently eyeing him from the other side of the corridor. Snapping fingers drew his attention back to the Granger girl "I thought I had an arrangement with Dudley." he heard her say as she stared into his eyes, a penetrating glare pinning him into place. "So why do I find one of his lackeys _spying_ on me now? Care to tell me, _Chrissie-boy?_"

He fought to catch his breath, "I-I am being ch-chased. P-piers's lads."

She smiled at him, a sinister chuckle coming from Potter's shadowy corner. "And so you decided to shake them by hiding out here? Without considering that others have lunch and do their homework here? Bad form Christian, bad form indeed. What would Dudley have to say to you, I wonder?" she stroked her chin as she stared at the frightened wannabe bully in front of her. "See, normally I wouldn't mind helping you, you know. Quite a number of kids come here to enjoy some quiet time when ickle Duddykins goes a-hunting. And do you know why, Christian?" The look she gave him sent shudders down his spine. "Because this is the freaks' corner. There are dozens of us here, trying to catch a small bit of peace between classes. More than double the number of goons in your pitiful gang come here to relax. If I really wanted to, me and Harry could take Dudley for everything he's got. So in exchange for being left alone, Dudley and Piers do not bother us. But now-"

She sighed, listening to the sudden silence coming from outside. There was a strange sort of _twang_ noise in the air before he started hearing voices whispering.

" Look, the Boss said that we shouldn't go in there." Bertram Yorke, one of Piers's lieutenants said. "It's just too sodding dangerous."

"Look, I don't care!" Benson whispered. "That smug bastard stole from my sister! He's not getting away this time, alright?" Christian was amazed. How was he hearing this? They were on the outside! And whispering! How-

"You really should let it go for now, Evie." York said, a fearful lilt in his voice. "This is where the Untouchables hang out."

"Oh, come on!" Alice Vigsley, one of the main runners of the gang, whisper-shouted. "Dudley's freak cousin and his buck-toothed girlfriend?" She snorted. "They've got _nothing_ on us." Benson made affirmative noises, leaving the eavesdroppers with the impression of a head nodding along with the positive grunting.

"Wrong, girl. They've got numbers on us." York re-affirmed. "The whole building's full of-"

"-Cowardly midgets." Benson interjected. "Look Bertie, this will be easy! Just break in, find the kid and break out. Who's going to challenge us, huh? "

"... Fine, but we'll need more people for this. Vigsley, go and round up the others and be back here in five minutes." York said, voice normal once again.

The girl bristled, growling sounds emanating from her throat. "Why should I do it? Why don't you go and do it?" She said, cracking her knuckles at the two boys.

York sighed. "First, I am still the boss here. Second, you are doing this because Benson just volunteered to scout us an opening while you're off gathering more of us, understood?"

"Yes, boss." Alice said, clearly not happy with how much of a pain in the ass her boss was being.

"Yes, boss." Evie said, his voice speculative.

"Then hop to it!" Two pairs of feet could be heard leaving the area. Chris heard that _twang_ sound before silence filled the room again.

Hermione looked positively murderous as she stood there, thinking about what had been said. "Harry!" She barked, startling both Chris and Harry "Go get ready! Chris, go with him! We will finish our talk later!"

Harry bowed. "Yes, Ma'am." he turned to Chris "Come with me." He said, entering the room and pulling Christian along behind him "We still have much to do."

* * *

A full half of the Polkiss gang had assembled in front of the building after ten minutes. Vigsley had come back a few minutes earlier, a smug expression on her face as she looked at the building. York had gone and tracked down Polkiss, who was now talking with some of the founding members of the gang that'd turned up. York himself was eyeing the lookouts, ready to tell his subordinates to scram should a teacher or a prefect show themselves too early. And Benson was supposedly still looking for an entrance, but-

"Polkiss" a voice growled from a scant few inches behind Piers' back. "We had a deal." the leader flinched as he turned around. Behind him was Hermione Granger, teacher's pet and head Untouchable.

"Where did you come from?" The gang leader asked, shock and disbelief mingling as he wondered how this girl could have crossed 20-odd yards without alerting any of his goons.

The girl smirked. "Somewhere. Now-" she intoned, clearly not amused at finding him laying siege to her little study commune. "- honour your side of the deal and leave, please."

"I don't think so." the leader said. "I agreed that i'd leave your little club alone as long as you didn't interfere with my affairs. And now-" Piers smiled at her "- you've interfered." His lieutenants chuckled as they heard this. They'd wanted to have a go at the Den Of Dweebs for months now, the rumours of riches and sweets stashed inside surpassing any common sense the gang might have. Hermione's smile disappeared as she studied Piers.

"Are you breaking the deal, then?" she asked with a faux-sad voice. Silence fell as the two children eyed each other. Polkiss's smile had grown fake as he realised that she'd cornered him. But him and Dudley shared control over the gossip courts of the school, so Hermione couldn't really tell anyone that he'd welched on a deal. She snorted and looked up at the pale blue sky, realising that cornering him wasn't enough. "I see. Do you really want to do this, Piers?" She said, returning her gaze to the boy in front of her. "He came to us, not the other way around. He wasn't even aware we were there. We didn't break the deal at all." _As you well know, you slimy git._

His smile finally fell as if he'd somehow heard the final, unsaid bit. "It doesn't matter. Give us the kid now and we'll leave." He bunched himself up. "Don't and we'll just come in and take him". He was looming over the bookworm, posture clearly threatening the girl with bodily harm should she not comply. Hermione lifted an eyebrow at the obvious 'gur! I am Conan the Caveman!' stance, clearly not impressed. _Well_, she sighed internally,_ so much for the easy way..._

The girl laughed. "I don't think so, you stupid _worm!_" Piers lost his temper, his hand drawing back-

* * *

Hermione had had enough of this. These vandals had interrupted her and Harry's meditation-cum-lunch break, threatened a kid that had come to them for help (_one of their own, too_ she remembered bitterly), broken an agreement she'd hammered out a mere twelve months ago and was now trying to push her around like a common brat. Piers went flying after being punched in the face.

Barnaby Wallace, the largest member of Piers's entourage, saw red as the girl went and decked his friend and leader right under his nose. He bellowed a challenge, lowered his head and tried to rugby-tackle beaver face. Unfortunately, Hermione could feel him coming, side-stepping the charging collossus and Force Punching him in the kidneys. She jumped to the side as three more gang members tried to snag her, one of them landing a glancing blow on her face before falling to the ground, screaming and cradling a broken wrist while the two others were sideswiped by the lanky girl. Meanwhile, the other gang members stared as the bossy little bookworm that spent most of her time either reading or doing homework laid waste to Piers's toughest and strongest, bullies that targeted other bullies. And she was smiling as she did so.

Hermione was indeed enjoying this, far more than she ought to. She and Harry had made it a habit to go all out when testing their skills against each other, either in producing a specific effect via Force manipulation or by sparring against each other. Though it was exciting, the only challenge provided was having to beat an opponent that knew all your moves and whose standard moves you knew by heart. From fighting to playing chess to Monopoly night, Harry and Hermione's play fights tended to end in a draw after hours of exhausting manoeuvring on both their parts which, though certainly educational and motivating, tended to make life a wee bit boring for the two of them.

So in a way, fighting normals was refreshing in a way Harry's spars, though fun, weren't. She ended up having to pull her punches more often than not. She was forced to avoid any overt uses of the Force. She was limited to standard muscular and reaction augmentations when engaging these targets, as any active scanning would draw attention to her. Sidestepping blows that haven't even been launched did tend to raise more questions than she felt comfortable answering. But _God_, had she wanted to punch a bunch of idiots who weren't Harry since reading up on that wizarding la-la-land! Of all the stupid, racist, bigoted fantasy settings she could find herself in-

She felt a shift in the force stream, dodging left as Alice's foot sailed through the space where her neck had been scant seconds before. She discretely summoned Vigsley's other leg, sending the tomboy sprawling as she jumped over Polkiss's attempted leg swipe. A follow-up punch to York's stomach sent the last of Piers's chief enforcers to the ground. Low moans could be heard coming from Wallace, a massive hand cradling a side of his stomach while he struggled to move away from the puddle of vomit he'd left behind after Hermione's little feint.

"Had enough yet?" the girl said, contempt obvious in her voice as she advanced on a cowering Piers. "Or do you want me to start on your other minions for you, _Polkiss_?" Pain engulfed her lower body, drawing out a moan as she felt her knees buckle under a surprise blow from behind. Evander stood over her, a wooden plank raised above his head and a fearsome look of triumph shining in his piggy little eyes.

"Goodnight, bucktooth." He whispered, bringing the wooden plank down with all his might. Hermione yelped, trying to roll out of the way of the blow. She almost made it, her shoulder taking the brunt of the attack as she finished her roll. "Hah! Got y-" he slumped over, blood coming from a wound in the back of his head. All of a sudden, pebbles started pelting the assembled children, too accurate and too quick for the normally nimble gang members to dodge. Those that were still standing crumbled under the invisible onslaught, the whole group peppered with stinging projectiles from every corner. Screams echoed around the courtyard, cries of pain intermingling with the shouts from the football pitch as Hermione tried standing up again.

"Whoa, easy there!" A voice said, catching the girl as she stumbled under the pain in the back of her legs. She looked up at her crutch and smiled. Chris had come to pick her up. "Man, I can't believe you did that!" He whispered as he dragged her back to the building. "Harry probably went bananas when he saw that kid nail you with a plank. Oh boy, Dudley is going to love this!" The pebble rain stopped as they reached the open doorway, the crying mass of about ten to twenty children lying on the ground not even bothering to stand as they nursed thumb-sized bruises and some wounds where a pebble had hit exposed flesh.

* * *

"Harry!" Hermione shouted. "You can come out now!" a muffled thump was heard as the little boy hit the floor in front of her. He was wearing his standard dark-deep purple school uniform with one of his many new hats sitting on his head. "And what were you doing up there, exactly?" she asked, extricating herself from Chris as the extra Force channel she'd been keeping open finished mending her bruises.

The boy pointed at a point in the wall halfway up. "See that fancy brick up there? It's a ventilation grill. Perfect vantage point for looking at what was happening outside."

She nodded. "So you could see what you were aiming at. Good work." Chris was looking at the stone grill, far too small for him to even try to look outside through it. _What? He could see the whole thing just like that? Why didn't he use the window instead?_

"I didn't just aim, you know." he huffed indignantly "I also needed line of sight on some of the others to stop them from assaulting you during your little jaunt." Her eyes widened at that and she went into instant lecture mode, opening her mouth when-

"But how?" Chris interrupted, drawing a furious glare that had Harry step back in dread. "I mean, you threw pebbles from this room? You stopped Piers's minions from beating your friend at the same time? Just how did you do that?"

Hermione grinned evilly at the cowardly bully in front of her. "I think it's time for that talk we promised earlier." She reached out through the Force stream, her layered tendril of coherent Force energy whipping around his spine and painfully constricting it. "_Think i've forgotten you, Chris? How you used to try and steal Harry's lunch money? How your presence makes some of the younger girls cry? You evil meanie..." _She hissed. Even though he was screaming, even though she had moved across the room to Harry's side, he heard every single word she said as if she'd screamed them in his ear.

Her Force grip tightened slightly around his tailbone, the added pressure making him feel like his lower abdomen was on fire. He fell to the ground, desperately trying not to piss himself in fear. "To answer your question." A cold, cold voice came from somewhere. "We have access to the Force. We use it to look after those who have no friends. Those who have no big brothers or siblings. Those who have nobody else. Those you, you pathetic _hssss-hsshsshh, _have bullied and beaten for years." Something very, very cold grabbed his armpits despite his being curled into a foetal ball on the floor, the agonising fire still burning on his back and leaving him to wonder about whether there would be blisters there tomorrow. It _heaved _him up, forcing him out of his stance on the floor and onto his feet. The burning stopped, but something icy cold settled over him, holding him in place. His eyes opened despite his attempts at keeping them closed. A pair of green eyes studied the boy "Remember me, Munroe? I asked you to keep my hiding places a secret. Only you knew where me and Hermione went to after lunch for meditation. Nobody else in this school knew but you. I trusted you. You were just like me back then, just looking for a friend to talk to and hang out with away from the bullies. But then you found lots of _friends_, didn't you? And you told all your new friends about this awesome little spot on the roof of the gym!" A bitter smile crossed the little boy's face as something very, very scary shone in those green eyes. "Dudley really liked that, didn't he Chris? He still hunted me back then, you know. Me and Hermione, actually, when he was bored. And the only time in two years that he catches us is a week after _you_ join his gang."

The cold feeling started to heat up, Chris getting uncomfortable as his body temperature passed that of the room around him. "P-please. Please." he whimpered as he felt fear at the sight of the two people he'd betrayed. "I helped her come back here."

"Yes, you did. Thank you," Hermione's voice said "for saving me from a situation you _got me into in the first place_." She stepped up to the boy trying to cower whilst embedded in Stasis binding. "You owe us. We saved you, despite your betrayal. And I plan on getting the most out of you, understand?" The boy opened his mouth, winced as his skin felt like it was starting to burn again and resorted to nodding instead. "Perfect. Now, we have a number of things we want to do after school this year. Unfortunately, we don't have the time to come here and manage the Freak's corner while we do it. You, on the other hand, _do_ have time. Well, you and Benson. So you two are going to manage the Freak's corner for us. You will clean the place during breaks, make sure the library is kept decent and help any of the younger kids that come up to you. Is. That. Clear."

She jabbed him in the ribs at the last word, making him cry out in pain. "Yes!" he said, eyes wildly darting between the two _monsters_. "I will do it, I promise!" An eerie white glow hung over him for a second as he felt... _something_ settle in the back of his mind.

"Good." Hermione said. "Thank you for promising that to us. Now, to answer your question, we are... something like the Jedi. We are good, there are a few of us around and we don't like bad people like you. We hurt bad people like you, Chris, especially traitors. So" and she stared him straight in the eye, her stare one of hatred and sadistic anticipation at a faux-pas on his part. "this time, you will keep our secrets. Tell no-one of this and you will be left alone."

"But what if it slips out? I-i'm not very good with secrets..." he hung his head, wincing at the snickers he heard coming from Harry. He heard that _twang _noise again, giving way to moans and screams coming from... somewhere. Hermione went pale at hearing the groans and pleas for mercy she heard. _Twang. _The sound was gone.

"Harry. Apprentice." Hermione whispered. _"what did you do to him?"_ She was looking at her friend with what, in Chris's experience, looked like disgust and horror. "Those weren't normal screams, Harry..."

"He's fine" Harry said, smirking at the other two's expressions. "I just mind-tricked him into thinking he'd broken his bones going through the back window. Apparently, he thinks he's broken all of them..." Hermione heaved a sigh of relief, clearly thankful that her friend hadn't actually committed murder while Chris went green at that kind of power directed against him. "You see Chris, that's what we do to bad people like bullies and traitors. They suffer, but there is _no proof_ that they are suffering. Them and their _abnormal, freakish_ behaviour... They are punished like the _bad freaks _they are. I am a good freak that uses his power to help those that teachers can't help. They are bad freaks that hurt others when grown-ups aren't looking. It's because of _them _that freaks like us" he pointed at himself and Hermione "must hide." _Us, and all the so-called 'wizards' and 'witches'. What are _they_ hiding from?_

"Harry," she sniffed at the boy, indicating her offence at the words "stop it. For the last time, we are not freaks, we are _force wielders! _We are nothing like the bullies, so stop making it sound like we are equal to them. If we are _freaks_, then they are _bugs_." She sniffed, bristling at the unintended insult coming from her apprentice. "Get it right."

"Sorry Master, it's just easier to explain this way." He said, smiling placatingly at her. "Now Chris, do you want to be a _good_ freak? Or do you want to join Everard and be a _bad _freak?" he asked, turning to face the cowering boy.

"I-I'll keep your secrets! Promise!" Once again, the glow came and went.

Hermione beamed at him, her eyes being ever so much sharper than the smile she showed him. "Excellent! Now, can you go and look after Benson? Me and Harry still have some work to do before classes start." The binding released him, causing him to trip and stumble to the ground. As he got up and left the room, the boy couldn't help but shudder at the way the two followed his departure with their eyes closed.

* * *

December 16th 1990, somewhere in the Scottish Highlands

A good-looking young man sat across from an old, old man in an antiquated office in a scottish tower. The décor looked like something a renaissance man would dream up, full with gadgets, gizmos, physically manifested pipe dreams and whatnots. About the only thing in the office that wasn't engaged in the process of trying to distract the two older men also happened to be the only other living creature in the room. On his perch, a rather odd-looking bird was catching a nap, no doubt dreaming of hunting its favourite food (caramel and sesame seed snitches) in the mountains around the castle. Nevertheless, despite not _trying _to distract the two men, the bird still succeeded admirably. Who knew that phoenixes snored?

"Albus" the young man in a well-appointed visitor's chair/recliner combo said "why did you decide to contact me again after all these years?"

"Nicholas" Albus said "tell me, do you think Gringotts is the safest place for you to keep that stone of yours?" Nicholas glared balefully at the older-looking man, a man who was a quarter Nicholas's own age thanks to 'that stone' Albus was referring to.

Flamel sat up straight in his comfortable chair. "Yes Albus," the man said "I do. The Goblins have kept my creation safe for over four hundred years from close to a thousand separate attempts to steal it."

Albus sighed, he really didn't want to say too much yet, but... "And how many Dark Lords have tried to steal it from you?"

"Three" came the prompt reply. "The first one was Betelgeuse Black, the second was Wu-Jian Chang and the third was none other than Adalbert Bonaparte, self-proclaimed Dark King of France."

Nicholas relaxed a tad into his chair while Albus leaned forward. "Next year, there is going to be a fourth one trying for it." Nicholas waved for him to continue, clearly not caring about this new threat. "Tom Riddle."

Flamel laughed at him. "Riddle? The wraith without a body? And how, pray tell, is a disembodied spirit going to get through the protections on my vault?"

Dumbledore smiled at his one-time mentor. "Why, in the same way I did, I believe" he said, pointing at a corner of the room. In that corner, a table supported a small pensieve against which leant a small, blood-red stone. "Care to see how, old friend?"

* * *

December 26th 1990, Surrey

Harry sat in his cupboard under the stairs, mentally revising the special sequence of Mind Tricks he had used on his relatives yesterday night during dinner time for any possible mistakes. His Force connections gave him a massive advantage in power over Hermione, though he still struggled with trying to focus on them and on whatever he was supposed to be doing. This resulted in him sitting in his cupboard and running through every specific command he'd implanted into the Dursley's brains.

Because focus _was_ a problem, he'd realised early November. Wands were really great, extremely useful and proving to be a fun research project for the duo. Though relying on them was a prospect that still disgusted both children, channelling the refined Force stream stored in their bodies allowed them to research how these wands manipulated the Force. And it was an eye opener. The wand would use some of the Force Stream to 'awaken' itself and tap into the normal connection every Force Wielder possessed. It would then extend tendril feeds into the stored Force container, siphoning off however much of it the wand needed. The way the wand connected to its user was breathtaking, a cross between a rainbow and a Laser following the user's bodily contours to the end point, where all the streams merged into one massive ball, invisible to the naked eye. However, any time the two attempted to bypass the internal stores and make the wand access the Force Stream directly, either nothing would happen or the ends of the wand would start belching smoke. So they were trapped with using their normal techniques to access the Force streams they needed to continue their original training, only now they were using it to try and produce Force tendrils that worked the way wands did.

Those so-called spells were actually small balls of directed energy wrapped in a bubble of what looked like tiny tiny strings made up of strange symbols. After the proper noises and movements are made, the wand releases the ball, which travels quickly towards the intended target and bursts the bubble on arrival. The two wondered if what they were seeing meant that the Force was encased in the container that would tell the spell how to behave when the bubble burst, directing the energy to behave in a specific manner, but had no real way to check it out. But if they could make Force tendrils that could channel and shape the Force into a focused beam and then throw the result at enemies, then this could be all worthwhile. Neither thought they could ever truly replicate the Ball instruction-type thing yet, not without a much better understanding of how it all worked. It simply required far too much focus and concentration on what they were doing, something they couldn't even do whilst meditating. But the research still came in _very_ handy at times.

The Dursley's Mind Tricking had been the trial run for the Force Lasering ability he'd been gunning for since Diagon Alley, using just one Force connection to hit every single Dursley individually. He had done it from across the room, whilst doing something else and without making eye contact or even facing his targets. If the test succeeded, he would be able to Displace to Hermione's side without meeting Marge, Piers or Figg's psycho cat brigade today. If it didn't, he would have to spend about five minutes re-implanting his commands using the traditional method before escaping the other members of his top ten people to avoid. Hermione would be disappointed that he hadn't succeeded, probably muttering something about apprentices, but his Christmas gift of true life wizarding adventure books by some lady dressed as a man calling herself Gilderoy Lockhart would appease the peeved girl before she anti-ranted at him (sad face, lying about forgiving his/her incompetence and displaying watery eyes at the intended target). Anyway-

A dull rumble could be heard coming from the bedrooms. Doors opened, the yawning of the hinges covering the yawns of their occupants as they stared at their house's fixtures and blinked the sleep away. Slowly, a series of heavy THUNKS got louder as the two behemoths and the shrew stomped their way downstairs. Harry started sitting up, already dressed in his finest clothing for the day. The cupboard door opened. Uncle Vernon looked down upon him from outside, his face briefly cycling through a set of interesting colours before his angry look turned into a confused one and his complexion returned to normal. He smiled at the boy. Harry smiled back. _It worked_. A muffled crack could be heard as the boy disappeared without saying a word.

* * *

March 5th 1991, London

Mundungus Fletcher woke up in St. Mungo's hospital, a frown on his face as he looked around himself. He paled. To his left lay Frank and Alice Longbottom, both staring serenely at the ceiling as they ate orange peels. To his right, Coralie Bonaventure screamed silently, the blood vessels on her exposed flesh still smoking from the permanent blood-boiling curse she'd caught in India. Dung shuddered. How long had he been out to end up in the permanent spell-damage ward? Was he still young? Were his friends and acquaintances still alive and willing to cut him some slack for late payment? Oh Morgana, Lupin's Wolfsbane fix... How was he going to explain this? Wait...

"Mr. Fletcher?" He startled, finally registering the fact that a hot-looking Healer woman was staring at him. "We found you in a magical healing coma on January the 2nd. You were suffering from Veritaserum overdose, and given how long you've been under, it was a near-lethal dose you took. Do you remember anything, Mr. Fletcher?"

"Yes" he said, not caring about her bedside manner as much as he normally would have. _Veritaserum. And i'm not in Az, so that means..._ Oh no. "Err, miss healer-lady-" he said, leaving the implied question to hang around and kick cans.

"-Tonks"

"Right. Healer Tonks, can you contact Albus Dumbledore for me, please? " At her nod, he continued. "Tell him... Well, tell him that 'the snake has taken an interest in Geology'."

Healer Tonks laughed at him. "What? If I didn't know any better, I would have called you Maxwell Smart for that"

"Maxwell who?"

"Nothing, don't worry. I'll just go make that call before CHAOS agents get here, shall I?" She said, ambling off with shaking shoulders.

"Who?" He repeated to himself, adding finding out who this Maxwell Smart was to his growing list of things to look out for. And adding Healer's terrible bedside manners to his list of pet peeves. That was, by far, the longest of his many, many lists...

* * *

July 31st, 1991, London

Harry fidgeted nervously, his hands holding a thick envelope with a broken wax seal adorning it. He finally had the invitation letter to Hogwarts in his hands, still relishing the feeling it gave him even after two weeks of frequent handling. After sending a confirmation letter by remote Displacement which, strangely enough, hadn't caused anything to violently explode on either end this time around, another owl had arrived giving the time and date for his escort to Diagon Alley.

He didn't mind getting an adult as escort, as both he and Hermione had made monthly trips since last September to stock up on more reading material as soon as they ran out and they always had to be back within two hours lest they miss class or arouse Sarah's suspicion. This way, he was sure to get at least five hours of book shopping done before he had to leave again, though he would be forced to dial down his Force sensitivity if he did do that. Seeing massive amounts of the Force was blinding if you couldn't adjust Force Sight correctly but you could still use your eyes afterwards. But having your Force senses overwhelmed for prolonged periods of time was bad for your health. He'd lost more than one connection when, on occasion, his senses would be overwhelmed by a Force Stream he'd underestimated with his Force Senses and Sight dialled up to maximum. But more than two hours worth of browsing the book store was well worth the risk of keeling over to the young Force wielder, so he wrote down the meeting location and remotely Displaced the message again. Though the message had survived the attempt, Harry's eyebrows didn't. Neither did much else in the room that wasn't Harry.

A man sat across from him, his bulk straining the structural integrity maintenance charm on the chair. He had a massive, unkempt beard, beetle black eyes, a massive head and the cutest, most innocent frown he'd ever seen on something that _huge_.

"Tell me," the massive man asked. "Do yeh know where I can find a boy? About yay high" he said, holding a hand barely higher than the table "with black, messy hair and green eyes?"

"Why yes, yes I can." The boy said, reverting his hair and eye color back to normal. "And I am taller than that, thank you very much!" the boy mock-huffed, smiling to take the edge off his voice.

"Harry! It is yer! Why, ye've grown, ye have. Yer mother's eyes, too. Bloody hell lad!" the man said, leaning over the table and hugging the child. Harry stiffened, slightly alarmed by the man's reaction towards the boy. "Ah, sorry 'bout that. Me name's Hagrid, Rubeus Hagrid. Reckon yeh'll have plenty of time ter tell me how Pettie and that oversized hinkypunk she married're doin'?"

"Wait, you know them?" Harry asked, dumbfounded as to what circumstances would have to arise before Petunia and Vernon would meet a 'wizard' for long enough to talk. Privately, he thought that alcohol, Monopoly and far too much sugar had played a role in this somehow. "Did you also know my parents?"

Hagrid chuckled at the eager little boy in front of him, reminded about how another messy-haired Potter had been friends with him not that long ago alongside that pair of green eyes nobody could truly look away from. "Quite a bit, dont'cherknow. Yer Da was always one fer detentions, and 'e served a fair few of 'em with me. And yer ma, she liked me tea, she did." His eyes watered at the fond memories of true friendship ending too soon. "Nobody else every says so."

"Let me try some!" Harry said smiling at the giant of a man. "I'm sure i'll like it, too!"

"Heheh, sure, but only when yer're safe 'n sound at Hogwarts, a'right?" The boy nodded his head enthusiastically. _Today, _he though, _is going to be a _great_ day!_

* * *

August 1st, 1991

"Morning Hermione!"

"Harry?" The soon-to-be-teenager questioned, clearly wondering why her friend was in her room at (she checked her alarm clock) some ungodly hour in the morning...

"Because I bring two gifts, o dear Master ma'am!" He said, clearly enjoying the flat glare the girl was giving him through a curtain of frizzy bed hair. "First, Wizarding Coffe!" he shouted, shoving a mug proclaiming itself to be 'Offendi's finest; heaviest blend available, comes with 5 instant refills! Drink yourself intelligent _now!_' "Aand Books!" he pointed at a massive pile of wizarding books lying in the middle of her bedroom floor. "Lotsalotsalotsa Books! Come on, Hermione! Let's get started!"

Absolute silence descended as Harry's caffeine-infused conscience finally registered the fact that Hermione, who was never really a morning person, had just been woken up at 5 in the morning by her best friend-turned-maniac for a spot of impromptu studying. Of course, the tsunami of frustrated anger having pushed her Force Barrier (which wizards called 'aura' for some strange reason) into the visible spectrum was a clue that was kind of hard to miss...

"Harry." the witch said, her blank face betraying nothing about the absolute fury she was currently feeling. _"__**Get. Out.**__"_

When Harry came to a few hours later, he was in the Granger's back yard. From what he could remember through the caffeine-induced hallucinatory haze was that Hermione's anger and Force-infused command had directed her Force Barrier to lash out, throwing him through Hermione's room's window and repairing it after he passed through. His Stasis shield had barely gone up in time, but the force of the impact with the ground still knocked him out. He opened his eyes. "Her-Hermione? What happened?" She looked down at him, a glowing beetle-like creature sitting on her shoulder. Her flat look was still the same as it was last night, though the fuzzy memories did make it hard for him to figure out why she held that look. "I'm in trouble, aren't I?"

"Apprentice" she said, perched over his prone body. "I am going to teach you something I should have a long time ago" her smile did little to reassure the lad. "Never, _ever, _wake me up that early ever again. _Is that clear?" _He nodded at her. "Good. Now, how did your trip to Diagon go?"

"Does this mean you're not mad at me?"

She looked at him, surprised. "No, it means that I want to hear about your trip to Diagon first. Then, we will see, Harry. We will see." Needless to say, it was the most detailed account of a visit to the wizarding world Harry had ever given. In fact, it was the most detailed account he'd ever given, full stop...

Far away, an elderly man sat at a table in his old home, enjoying the kind of silence only desolation could bring. Rotting furniture was everywhere, everyday items last used long ago was sitting where it was left. A small mountain of mould was perched on the main table, evidence of a supper interrupted by something that had caused the residents to leave rather hastily. Dark splotches could be seen through the dust, the dark red still shiny after so long spent on the tiled floor. There were many memories here, enough to drive ordinary wizards insane. But that was no problem for this man. After all, he was crazy to come back here in the first place. Who cares about some measly memories, inserted into the brain to drive their new owners around the twist, when the memories themselves would have to twist themselves out of shape to fit in his head anyway? The man smiled, enjoying the silence through which he could still hold onto the last vestiges of his sanity. The roar of an engine outside alerted him that his ride was there.

The smile turned into a vicious grimace, amusement changing to nervous excitement and anger the likes of which the figure hasn't felt in well-on nigh fifty years. "Soon, Albus." the figure croaked. "Soon I shall have it. Your wand is mine. On this, I swear" the oath took effect, blinding the man's eyes, unused to unnatural light after so long spent in a cell with only a window for illumination. He walked out the door, closing it behind him. The car engine roared to life once again, speeding away from the derelict building. Two minutes before midnight, the building exploded in a wave of debris and light blue fire. No noise was made.

_A/N: So this is a long-ish interlude chapter, with the actual story starting next chapter. Harry-centric, will be Hermione-centric next, what with train rides and sortings... Hey, what do you think would happen if a person were to rip the veil off the Veil of Death archway and show what goes on underneath? _

_Oh, and Mr Crazy Mysterious Person? Remember the rule that says that, for every increase in power given to the protagonist, you need to give a proportionate increase in power to the bad guy? Give Frodo a light saber, you give Sauron a Death Star kinda deal? Well, Ladies and Gentlemen, since Harry will not be alone, Hermione will have to face her own nemesis. Not only that, but both enemies will be proportionately more cunning and powerful than in canon, which means that Voldemort gets two brain cells to rub together instead of one. Imagine that..._

_But yeah, Mister Mysterious is another Big Bad that the duo will have to deal with... I know who I want to put there, but if you have any suggestions for who you want the evil dude to be, just put it in your review. It can be whoever you want, even a time travelling version of a protagonist, so knock yourself out! If your idea is cooler than mine, you get your wish. Oh, and it can also be a male version of a female protagonist too, since this is a jury-rigged version of time travel that skips dimensions to the right point in time rather than go back the same timeline...  
_


	7. Of platforms, trains and Malfoys

**A/N**: _This... was huge. I rewrote it a couple dozen times to get right, and I still wish I could fit more in. But, it has given me a ton of ideas to play with, so it's a draw between whether I should be delighted by having finally come up with a version of it I liked or appalled that it has taken so long to put together. On the plus side, it was a blast writing this and introduces a massive chunk of main cast. On the minus side, 'tis huge milord. No hat yet, but hey. At least the train ride is as magical (read illogical, unbelieveable, crazy awesome and fantastic) as I could make it. And with that, enjoy!_

**Disclaimer**_: I don't own Harry Potter. You can tell by the fact that there's a _nineteen-year gap_ in events at the end of it. Oh, and that everyone gave up logic as a bad idea after book five. Actually, if I did own Harry Potter, I would give the final two books to Peptuck and say "here, cook me up a credible civil war". Because he does good stuff, Peptuck does. And allons-y!_

_Wizarding warfare is nothing like modern warfare for two reasons: the ability of people to teleport great distances and the ability to substitute manpower with wards & charms when securing and holding vital positions. In other words, wizarding warfare does not have the problem of having to supply food, equipment and personnel to a front line but rather has the problem of how to stop raiders from appearing inside your base and mind-controlling your leaders into defeat. As a result, the main wizarding combat techniques can be separated into three separate areas: ward making/breaking, spellcrafting and small unit tactics._

_Wards have formed the basis for magical warfare ever since the Babylonian mage wars. Being able to not only stop attackers, but incapacitate them, kill them and subjugate their retinue afterwards proved to be of vital importance to Gilgamesh and his followers. And it was all thanks to the T'seburs, early warding masters that dominated magical court life from Gilgamesh's time until the later days of the egyptian magical priesthood. An army equipped with high-class wardcrafters and the right materials for the job have been known to hold back onslaughts from armies dozens, even hundreds of times larger than the size of the garrison defending the area. Similarly, cursebreakers and ward lawyers (warding loophole hunters) have been known to turn the tide of a battle when stalemates seemed to be the most likely outcome._

_Spellcrafting is another area of vital importance to the army since it relies on a simple truth: figuring out a counter-curse to a spell with a week and the arithmantic formula on hand to do so is hard enough. Figuring it out on the fly, in the heat of battle, when the incantation is muffled and the likely low visibility hampers identification? Not a chance. _

_So spellcrafters have two tasks: Numero Uno, come up with new spells that fit into the army's current tactical doctrine. Numero due, figure out the countercurse to the newest spells fielded by the enemy. The faster these two objectives are achieved, the larger the advantages gained becomes. This was Merlin's specialty, after all._

_And, finally, small unit tactics. __Wizards rarely, if ever, attack in large groups, preferring to separate into small three-four person teams when fighting. __Why are such tactics so popular in the wizarding world? Here are the three main reasons: _

_1)Demographics. There simply aren't enough wizards and witches to go around, let alone enough to spare for large-scale combat._

_2)Complexity. Spellcasting requires a huge amount of focus, stamina and tactical thinking to get right. Whereas Large mundane armies are difficult enough to coordinate, adding in the huge number of magic-related variables that need to be accounted for makes it a living nightmare. How do you plan to form a cohesive set of tactics if every single member of your team disagrees on what spells to cast during the initial volley? Worse yet, how do you get them to work together when under fire? The group's leader has to know each and every single group member's strengths and weaknesses, habits, quirks, favourite magic, favoured spells etc if he or her wishes to employ his/her subordinates to maximum effect. These are already severe obstacles in five-man teams, and the difficulty rises exponentially the more people you add to the group._

_3)Flexibility. Small teams of wizards and witches are not just easier to manage, but also quicker and more agile than larger groups of fighters. Oftentimes, small teams have a distinct advantage when fighting a larger group in that they have less friendlies to keep track of and are more familiar with one another than they would be with a hundred others. Quick, coordinated strikes against single members of the large group, ordered by level of seniority of the target, stand a good chance of breaking any wizarding group's chain of command faster than you can say boo. It's also a lot easier to change and adopt new tactics on the fly, especially when both sides are still relatively inexperienced._

_Bear in mind that, when facing wizards in open combat, oftentimes the best solution would be to employ mass destruction ordinance. Though this would ensure victory, it would be at the cost of severe damage to local infrastructure and the high likelihood of mass casualties amongst the civilian population. This is precisely why this document has been drafted: to nurture the relationship between the two sides in order to discourage and avert war between the two worlds. Use it wisely._

_Introduction to 'Charles's primer on magi-politics: ways in which they differ from us.', briefing commissioned by Margaret Thatcher's office for the purpose of informing future prime ministers on how to approach magical issues if and when they arise._

* * *

Chapter 6: The train ride

The station they found themselves in was far different from the King's Cross they'd started out in.

"Attention all passengers. Passengers, be advised that due to a security breach in the super-15 containment facility, all services to and from the Atlantis & Yggdrasil superstructures are hereby cancelled until further notice. Any enquiries are to be directed at the Department of Magical Transportation. Thank you for using MagiRail."

"_What_?" the bushy-haired girl shouted at the information that had just been broadcast across the platform.

"Atlantis... is real?" a boy with black hair, green eyes, a funky-looking scar and brand new clothes asked. "And the World Tree is too?"

The girl with brown hair and buck teeth suddenly dropped the frown that had been building throughout the day. A smile started to form on her face.

"Harry, we _have_ to go visit over the summer!" The girl exclaimed, eliciting a dramatic shudder from her scruffy-haired companion. "Oh, come on. It's bound to be better than yet another summer spent traipsing through _Bretagne._"

"Hermione, you want to hang out with blood-thirsty vikings instead of spending your summer holidays practicing your French and eating cheese whilst lounging around the _campagne_? I thought you like France! Pardon me if I am not enthused by the idea."

She scoffed. "Oh _please._ You know I love France, apprentice. But this is great! .I know you want to go and check out if there is any evidence-"

"-of Force? Maybe, but not if the choice is between delicious cheese and fighting the souls of dead viking raiders. Don't make me choose."

Silence broke out between the two, temporarily disoriented from both the implications of the announcement and the outright gawking they've been doing since they walked through a brick wall to get to the platform. The nice red-haired lady with what looked like a football team's worth of red-haired children and relatives bidding each other goodbye in tow had been very helpful, even if the poor soul had probably lost her mind from all the children around her. She'd asked the only other female around, who seemed to be her daughter, what the platform's name was several times in the few seconds Harry and Hermione had been in hearing range, confused two of her children for each other and then had stared at Harry for a good ten seconds before speaking.

To the duo, these were clear signs of early-onset Alzheimer's with a smidgen of insanity bubbling towards the surface. They pitied the lady's grandchildren, confident that such behaviour could only result in them being confused with the lady's inevitable retinue of cats. A truly mind-boggling number of cats that only a mind-boggled owner would want.

Anyway, she'd pointed at a brick wall and told them that the best way to reach the platform was to run full tilt at said wall, baggage and all. At first, they'd only taken this as a further confirmation that the poor lady was being driven around the bend by her litter of brats, that is until one of the older-looking ones drove his trolly straight through the wall, smug as you please. The duo, surprised, immediately switched on their Force senses and took a very careful look at the barrier.

What they found was rather interesting. There _was_, in fact, a brick wall where you'd expect to find one. It was, after all, put there for a reason and messing too much with a muggle building's structure using magic is something that the earliest wizards had learned not to do pretty damn quickly. Rather, there was an adapted static Displacement tunnel seemingly glued to the brick, linking the platform at King's Cross to somewhere close by. Under Force sight, the setup was remarkably similar to the portal used to access Diagon Alley, but the main difference is that it somehow remained active on a permanent basis. Hermione resolved to look it up later. Harry wanted to come back and study it. The two agreed that this was _super cool_ and wanted to make one themselves.

Unfortunately, Kyle Granger had been looking on at the time and so had to be manhandled towards the nearest coffee machine in hopes of shocking his system back into coherence. After a few muttered apologies and heartfelt goodbyes to Kyle and Sarah, Harry and Hermione were left alone with the crazy future cat lady to face the fabled train platform nine and three quarters.

Once on the other side of the barrier, things got weird. A normal train platform is just somewhere trains stop to pick up passengers and unload cargo. Rarely more, nothing less. Pity no-one seems to have told these so-called "wizards" that. Platform nine and three quarters was a platform, true, but it also seemed to double as an open-air marketplace. Immediately on the other side of the barrier, they were assaulted by a cacophony of noise and smells that was louder and more violent than the one in Diagon Alley. The train was painted a vivid red, a large number of old-school train carriages attached to an old steam engine that looked familiar to Harry-

"Oh wow! Hermione, it's the Orient express!"

"Really? Oh please Harry, it just looks like the Orient Express. And what would the Orient Express be doing in England?"

"Dunno."

"Oh well, tell me when you've thought of something. Look, Harry! Souvenirs!"

And so the two budding Force Users and attention deficit disorder incubators explored the open market sprawling the length and breadth of the platform. It was a strange mix of Diagon Alley _deja vu_, with a large amount of stalls advertising Hogwarts gear & assorted paraphernalia (though Ollivander was nowhere to be seen, thankfully) and novelties for the students to take with them to school.

Once again, the duo was exposed to products such as talking jewellry, re-sizing ropes (though what they were used for was a mystery even to the vendor) chameleon skincare products _(Are you a shy person? Don't want to attract undue attention? change colours to blend in with the environment! Warning: does not work if you are dressed), _communications stones and mini-pensieves (_capture your greatest memories and keep them fresh forever! Side effects include memory loss, surprise twitching, death_).

Harry bought two sets of communications stones and a mini-pensieve so that he could show the Grangers what Hogwarts looked like without having to buy those three hundred galleon "magic proof" cameras they sold in Diagon, though Hermione did berate him for buying a product that listed loss of life as a potential side-effect when used. His repartee that the Pensieve would only be fatal if he completely extracted his brain's memory of how to breathe & keep the central nervous system running and then twiddled his thumbs for three minutes instead of plunging straight in after the memory was inspired, smart and interrupted half-way through by the announcement that had exposed yet more of the so-called magical world to them.

They contemplated the ordered chaos of students, parents and salespeople crammed in such a small space, their voices competing against each other for attention. Cute, quaint and likely to give you a giant-sized headache. Just like everything else in this world of powerful, yet ignorant Force-manipulators that manage to combine breathtaking manipulations of the space-time continuum with a horrifying level of naivete. Even after a year of learning about the 'magical' world, Hermione and Harry were surprised by something new and unexpected every time they came into contact with this civilisation and their strange ways. Hermione was the first to sigh.

"You know, I think it's getting close to leaving time. You got everything with you?" Hermione asked her companion. He took out a small box from his pocket, holding it out in the palm of his hand at her. "Right, you've got your trunk, that's good. Did you miss anything?" He shook his head. _No._ She nodded. "Right then, let's go find a compartment. It's not even eleven o'clock and I'm exhausted already."

* * *

The inside of the train that looked like the Orient express was not something either of them was expecting.

Instead of the cramped and gloomy space suggested by the old-style design on the outside, the corridor they found themselves in was large and spacy enough to fit three people marching abreast. The compartments were a mix of sturdy leather seats and exotic wood coated with a thick layer of varnish. Gone were the smells of people and produce from the platform, replaced by something close to a new car smell accompanied by hints of sandalwood and a very, very light tinge of the smell of a roaring fireplace. The windows reacted to the presence of people inside the cabin, tinting themselves until just the right amount of light penetrated the inside of the cabin. Recesses in the ceiling carved with intricate-looking symbols and runes hinted at a similar system being put in place for night-time conditions. It was like travelling on an art-deco cruiseliner.

And the train itself was long. Very, very long.

Reading _Hogwarts, a History_, Harry and Hermione knew that there were roughly a thousand people attending Hogwarts at any given time. Aside from the main group of students, there was a secondary set attending lectures and examination sessions set in corners of the castle normal students had no access to. These areas catered to muggleborns that were given the option to attend normal school, purebloods that were simply incapable of paying for the full Hogwarts experience and those seeking to achieve their masteries being taught by either the teachers or overseas experts residing in Hogwarts during their stay in the UK. And all of them, without exception, were to be in Hogwarts for the first eight days of the school year so that the wards could reliably recognise them as students and the teachers could forward whatever help, studying materials and/or homework they need directly to their location. For security and logistical purposes, they are meant to travel by train to Hogwarts with all the students so that the floo system isn't jammed by the large number of irregulars looking to come through the limited number of outwards connections the school allows to establish at any given time.

Though interaction with normal students is strictly discouraged, this doesn't change the fact that close to a thousand students are supposed to be crammed into a train meant to lodge a hundred passengers at a time, maybe two hundred in a pinch. If this were an ordinary train, then this could be a severe problem. However, this is the Hogwarts Express, enchanted by four successive generations of charms masters and mistresses to go faster, use next to no fuel, be invisible to normal humans, able to avoid any form of collision and, most importantly, expanded and strengthened to the point where it could fit double the maximum current number of students attending Hogwarts in complete comfort. In 1930, this meant that the train had a seating capacity of 1200 students, given that the irregular studies programs hadn't caught on yet. By 1991, the number of seats available on the Hogwarts express was closer to the 2500 mark.

Harry and Hermione knew this. They knew that, rather than the 15 carriages with 5 cabins each that could be seen from the platform, the train actually had closer to 500 hundred separate cabins with 25 dedicated baggage cabins available to those carrying large loads of stuff. In other words, there were 35 cabins available per carriage. They knew that, while the external dimensions indicated a carriage that was 25 metres long (they'd recently taken to refusing to use the imperial measurement system, given that it contained the word 'empire') based on the fact that each cabin was approximately five metres long, each carriage was actually closer to ten metres in length in terms of internal dimensions and came complete with a table, a chess board, a chest of drawers containing a variety of books & games and a wizarding wireless set. Not only that, but a set of toilets was included as well, adding an extra ten metres to the length of the carriage (five cubicles, two metres of dedicated space each). Which meant that each carriage was 360 metres long. Which, in turn meant that all fifteen carriages were 5.4 kilometres long in total.

They knew all this, but they hadn't believed it. 'Magic' or not, a train containing a thousand people, five and a half kilometres long and operated by a _steam engine_, a technology that had last been on the cutting edge back when there was still an Emperor (the duo shuddered) sitting on the french throne, was just too much to bear. Space travel, teleportation, the Force, they could live with these things. They had confirmed all these things through observation, experimentation and meditation. But the notion of a steam engine being able to make the trip from London to the northern reaches of Scotland in close to eleven hours whilst dragging a steel tube five and a half kilometres long behind it... It was just too ludicrous. The power output needed... the requirements in raw materials alone... all these expenses for a train meant to make _four_ _trips a year_? No, they just couldn't believe it.

Until they were inside the corridor of the second to last carriage, staring at an unbroken corridor that was so long, the damn thing had a horizon. They could see it _curve _ in the distance, the end was so far away.

"Hermione." the boy said, trying to fathom just why the wizards had built such a train when there were oh-so-many different, better, more efficient, logical options available.

"Yes, Harry?"

"You remember when I asked who would be dumb enough to try and build stomething this ridiculous?"

"No Harry, I don't. What are you talking about?"

"Thank you."

"Don't worry, apprentice. Come now, we have to go find ourselves a cabin before it starts getting crowded here."

"Crowded? How? There's no way you could get too crowded in here! I mean, look at the _size _of this place."

"You'll see."

* * *

"I'm sorry, is anybody sitting here? Everywhere else is full." a young redhead the duo remembered from the platform asked.

"Sorry." Harry said.

"Occupied." Hermione elaborated for him, closing the door on the stricken-looking face of the youngest male Weasley.

Harry scowled as he focused on the still-bustling platform. "That's the fifth one to come asking us if he or she could come and sit with us. The _fifth._" He sighed. "You were right. It really _is_ crowded out there, by the sound of things." The girl shrugged at him, going back to reading a book on the history of Magical Transportation they'd gotten on their last trip through Diagon Alley.

"It's got nothing to do with space, apprentice. Wizards, for all that they are incredibly stupid most of the time, are still human and therefore social animals." _Flick. _She scowled at the contents of her book, a symplified illustration of how programmed Displacement, or what these magic people referred to as portkeys worked. They were wrong, not that it surprised her anymore. Then again, her proof was with Miss Waterson's 1964 Datsun, which she and Harry had successfully Displaced into Venus's upper atmosphere. "They like to be in each others' company. And that means finding others who want to be in their company too. Hence, door-knockers."

Harry nodded, going back to reading up on the fascinating world of wizarding communications techniques. "Hey, listen to this: _two-way mirrors have been a staple of magical communications __since the 16__th__ century. In fact, it is believed that many of today's magical mirrors are simply wizarding mirrors that have lost their counterpart. From 1789 until 1945, the two-way mirror also acted as the primary means of interaction between the muggle and magical worlds in the early twentieth century."_

"_It was only with the advent of the second world war that a muggle prime minister asked to meet the Minister of Magic in person for the first time since the introduction of the two-way mirror, citing the need for better relations between the two peoples in the Empire's darkest hour. Two-way mirrors were widely available until early 1941, when a Muggle bomb detonated in Diagon Alley and killed Eschelon Davis, head of the Davis Mirror Enchantment company. Tragically, the secret died with him as his daughter, Sarah Davis, was still too young to be taught how to make a two-way mirror from scratch. _Isn't that interesting?"

"What part, Harry? The fact that the secret behind two-way mirrors is now lost, or that Winston Churchill was the first Prime Minister in three hundred-odd years to publicly meet with the Minister of Magic?" She asked, clearly more interested in dissecting her book and its obvious errors rather than listening to her apprentice geek out on something she was likely to find completely boring.

"The part where they lost the knowledge of how to enchant two-way mirrors. More importantly, _why _that knowledge was lost in the first place. I mean, it sounds like he never wrote the thing down, he didn't tell his wife about how to make one, nor anybody else involved in the business! Why is that?"

Hermione perked up, intrigued by the line of reasoning Harry was working through. She looked at Harry, who was smiling whilst thinking about what he'd read. "If he didn't pass it on, maybe it was because he was afraid it would get stolen? I mean, if he just made the product and could claim he made them, sure, he wouldn't care. But by the sounds of things, the enchantment was a purely magical process, so enchanting a mirror could be done by anybody capable of casting the spell. So I can understand why he kept it a secret, but _surely_ a copy of the process would have had to be written up at _some_ stage! So why is it a lost secret?"

"Technically, it isn't lost." A voice said from the silently opened doorway. A smiling, slightly pudgy boy stood near the entrance, his hand resting on the trunk's handle while his other clutched something slimy and slightly noisy to his chest. "It's just that the matriarch of the Davis family didn't see much profit in selling two-way mirrors anymore after Patriarch Eschelon died, so decided to keep it a family secret for three generations before going back into business with it. Probably pulled out of the business to do some additional research on it."

"So it's just not very well known right now." Harry said, frowning at the implications. "Why not just licence out the right to produce two-way mirrors instead of pulling it off the market altogether?"

"Three reasons:" Neville said "First-may I sit there, Hermione?" mumbling 'ta' at her nod, he proceeded to store his trunk underneath the roomy table and sit down on one of the seats on the left. " As I was saying, first, it's a family secret. The spell is spelled to only be passed on to one 'of the blood', as it were. Second, there were too many mirrors in circulation already. If the Davis family had gone back into business straight away, they would have had to drastically lower their prices. And third- what's a licence, by the way?" At their blank looks, he just shrugged. "Let's pretend I know and leave it at that. But third, assuming a licence is similar to a promise to only use the spell under certain conditions, it often costs a lot of money to hire someone who can conduct the necessary rituals to make sure these rules are obeyed. That, and you still need to pay to have the rituals approved by the government, since some of them are dark, and then you have register the fact that you did, in fact, perform the spell and prove that it does not threaten the livelihood of those pureblooded families with interests in the markets you are looking to licence the spell for. In short, it's a lot of money and a lot of hassle to go through for selling family secrets to the highest bidder. Not only is it a disgrace to do so, but it's a complicated process too. And should a cursebreaker break through the agreed-upon rituals, well-" he shrugged. "- you would have gone through all that business for nothing."

"Ah. So you mean that all contracts here are magically binding?" Hermione put in.

"Yes, indeed. It used to be that a contract was only required to be legally binding, but since the Wizengamot started only accepting magical contracts due to the fact that they were more trustworthy, a magical contract is now the bare minimum needed to conduct business."

"Sounds very expensive, from your previous comment."

"Oh Harry, you have no idea." Neville laughed at the understatement. Had either of the two spent a significant amount of time in Neville's presence before then, they would have been gobsmacked at the amount of emotion the normally meek boy was exhibiting. "Some of the higher-level ones require hundreds of Galleons to set up, there is no guarantee that the contract will actually work as advertised and half the time they aren't even put through legal oversight! So not only are some of them dangerous, but there is no legal penalty for breaking somewhere close to half of them. Which is why you have some cursebreakers that specialise in 'defusing' magical contracts for inidividuals on the shadier side of things. And does it ever leave a mess for the courts to sort out!"

"How do you even know about this? It sounds fairly advanced." The bushy-haired girl asked, her interest overriding her tact in the process. "No offence, mind." She added after catching Neville's confused stare.

The pudgy boy with chestnut-brown hair shrugged. "My grandmother. I'm groomed to take over as head of the family in a few years time. Even for minor pureblooded houses it's a long process. I've been getting lessons for years."

"Magic as well, I assume?" Harry interceded. "How far ahead are you?"

"Uh sorry, but teaching children magic under the age of eleven without the right qualifications is illegal." Neville explained, his cheeks red from embarrassment. "and between Hogwarts and the study load of a pureblood, almost none of the families bother teaching their children magic."

"What? Why? I mean, surely your workload isn't that heavy, is it?" Hermione exclaimed. These people were Force users born into a family of Force users. Wouldn't starting early be a good idea?

Neville shrugged. "No, it's just that a lot of wands require a maturing magical core to work with, you know, and maturation only really becomes strong enough to bond magic to a wand around the age of nine or ten. Not much you can learn if you're still too young to touch a wand."

Harry frowned. "Okay. But how do you know about the Davis situation? Isn't that sort of private?"

"Well, it would be if she hadn't told me about it. That, and the value of the Davis's inventoried stock has gone up by a factor of fifteen in the past generation alone! In terms of physical assets, they are currently jockying for position behind Carrow Holdings and ahead of Zabini Trust. This year, they are likely jump right over Potter Trustees in terms of potential per-capita interest earnings if the rumours about security upgrades for Magical Europe's financial hubs is even close to true."

The only sound permeating the cabin was the deceptively slow _thump-thump _from the train tracks as the Hogwarts express finally left the outskirts of London behind. The silence from two of the occupants was thoughtful as they digested yet another aspect of British Magical society, while the third's cheeks started to glow from embarrassment.

"S-sorry, it's just that I really love this s-stuff. I've been really good at it since I was little." Left unsaid were the darker thoughts he had about this being the only thing he was good at. "My family thought that I didn't have magic when I was growing up. At least, until my grand-uncle threw me out of the window." He smiled at the memory as Harry and Hermione looked at each other in shocked surprise. "So that's a lot of what I was taught as a kid. Maths, English, politics, economics. I loved those subjects. Even after it turned out that I was a wizard and not a squib, I kept on studying these instead of applying myself at Runes, Arithmancy and other magical fields. Drove me gran mad, that did. And-" He interrupted himself with a cough and another embarrassed blush "ah, sorry again. I just really like talking about this stuff."

"I'm sorry, did you just say that a relative of yours _threw you out of a window_?" Harry asked, his expression one of deep horror.

"Well yeah, he was trying to see if I was a squib or not-"

"-And there's that word, 'squib'." Hermione interrupted. "What does that mean?"

"Well, a child from a wizarding family born without magic."

_So a force wielder's child born normal. _She thought, but rephrased it slightly. "So a magical child born normal."

Neville blinked. "Normal?"

"Well, just like 99 percent of the human race at the very least. You know, without magic." Hermione said.

"Ah, so born muggle then?"

Harry sniffed. "Yes" he drawled. "_Muggle._"

"...I'm sorry, did I say something?" Neville asked, a bit taken aback at Harry's tone.

"You said the _M_-word" Hermione explained. "Harry doesn't like people being racist to others. And Muggle sounds derogatory to us."

"Hey, I didn't mean it to be derogororry! It's just a habit. And it's not like you weren't being derogoraty towards wizards back in the bookshop, you know. I heard _that _little chat you two had, remember?"

"Sorry, no need to get defensive about it. Just call them 'normals' instead." Harry hastily interposed himself between the more nervous-looking Neville and the soon-to-erupt Mount Granger. "Back on topic here. They threw you out of a window to prove you had magic, right?" At Neville's nod, Harry asked the obvious question. "Why?"

"Accidental magic, of course. When a wizard or witch is distressed or in danger, their magic tends to lash out and protect them. In my case, I bounced after hitting the ground. It still hurt, but it was better than the alternative."

"Wait, alternative? How far off the ground was this window, Neville?"

The aforementioned boy suddenly looked very interested in the swirling animated patterns adorning the carpet. "About twenty, thirty feet? It was at least from the s-second f-floor, from what I remember."

Hermione shook her head. "mad" she could be heard muttering as she gazed out of the cabin window, her twitching features glaring at the unfolding landscape. "Utterly mad, the lot of them."

Harry cleared his throat. "So anyway, sorry about this. It's just that we don't deal with this kind of thing very well. Let's start from scratch. Now this lovely lady is Hermione Granger, I am Harry Potter and you are?"

"N-Neville. Neville Longbottom. My parents and yours were friendly rivals."

Harry's face lit up with a beaming smile. "Really?"

Neville noticed Hermione's scowl disappear at the sight, wondering what was going on in the girl's mind. "Yeah, my gran keeps telling me about the amazing things my dad and yours got up to back in the day."

This started a round of story-telling, with Neville telling a spell-bound Harry about some of the things he found out that his dad and Harry's dad got up to, with a little prodding on Hermione's part when the Longbottom boy tripped himself up because he got progressively more nervous (_it seems his anxiety follows an exponential growth curve, poor boy. _She' thought a couple of hours in) and so that was how they wiled away the trip.

* * *

Edmund Spiers and Annette Voorhees, Head Girl and Head Boy for the 1991-1992 school year, eyed the 22 prefects sitting and chatting together. Edmund finally looked down at the schedule he'd drawn up at some point in the distant, happy past of August the 30th , glaring at it in an attempt to get it to admit to its lies and present him with a _feasible _schedule of activities. This had failed abysmally, and so he was forced to once again deal with either talking to his nominal subordinates who were about as pliable as those cats some wizards had been trying to herd around the countryside or face one of McGonnagall's endless lectures on the importance of time management which, ironically, was a complete waste of everyone's time. So he picked up his wand, pointed it at the ceiling and silently cast _'rumpitur'_.

The resulting muffled bang was more than enough to attract everyone's attention and wake up Voorhees before anybody else caught on that, no, that was _not _a five-minute-long facepalm, no matter how badly deserved such a thing would be. He then glared at the assembled prefects.

"All right, let's call this inaugural session of the 91-92 Hogwarts prefects' group meeting to order. First, a word of advice to you all today. Both me and the Head girl have been at the station since 6:30 this morning, inspecting the train to make sure everything was okay. We were 'assisted' in this endeavour by professor Snape. For those of you who have somehow managed to lose the last five or more years of Snape-related memories over the summer, a feat that, if you have managed to achieve it without serious brain damage, many others would be interested in replicating, this meanst that from 6:30 until roughly, oh, thirty minutes ago, we had the honor and privilege of being called ignorant fools and pathetic dunderheads every time we opened a door to take a peek inside a cabin. So we are tired, pissed off and have authority over you. Do not give us any shit. Now, back to more important things. Roll call. Hufflepuffs!"

A group of six students, all dressed in black and yellow, turned to face the Head Boy.

"Right, that's you lot accounted for. Ravenclaws!" A group of four students turned towards him. "Hmm, we're missing one. Annette, if you'd do the honours?"

The girl with dark red hair nodded at her blonde companion. "Sure thing. Robert Hilliard!" An upheld hand and a muffled 'just call me bobby' attracted her attention. "Right. Penelope Clearwater." Silence. "Penelope Clearwater!" she asked more loudly. A noise that sounded like someone politely clearing their throat made her turn towards the Gryffindors. "You there, carrot top. Name, year, whereabouts of missing prefect. Now."

The boy blushed bright red, but managed to keep whatever emotional turmoil had spiked his blood pressure off his face. "Yes, miss Voorhees. Percy Weasley, fifth year, prefect Clearwater left to go to the toilet two and a half minutes ago."

Annette focused on something just behind Percy's back, though the boy was too frightened to notice anything but the feral smile that had spread across her face. "And why exactly did she decide to pick that particular time to go to the loo?"

"I-I-i-i think that it's because-"

"Finish that sentence Weasley and I will shove your wand up your ass." said an amused voice from just behind Percy's right ear. The newly minted prefect jumped three feet in the air at the sound and somehow pirouetted mid-jump to come face to face with the missing Ravenclaw prefect, who alternated between glaring murderously at him and trying to communicate non-verbal apologies to the two Heads at the same time. "Penelope Clearwater, reporting in."

"Reporting in _late_, Miss Clearwater." Edmund pointed out to her, rubbing his face and eyeing the pots of tea and coffee sitting to the side of their gathering with badly disguised hunger. "Still, I suppose it's not _too_ bad, since all you've managed to do with that little refreshment stunt of yours is to irritate us even farther as well as cause one of your fellow prefects a large amount of distress and humiliation. Just for these two facts, both you and Weasley are on baby-sitting duty."

"Baby-sitting, sir?"

"Yes, you both get to baby-sit the most likely sources of chaos and destruction during our little trip through the countryside. Weasley gets to keep the pure-blooded Slytherins in line while you, my dear, are to keep your eyes on Fred Weasley, George Weasley and Lee Jordan at all times during this trip. In other words, if one of them goes for a walk, you go for a walk with them. If one of them goes off to take a dump, you follow them to the toilet. If any of them causes chaos and/or destruction..." And both Head Boy & Head Girl smiled viciously in triumph. "we get to blame _you _for it! Oh, and if they split up, your priority is to follow the twins. Fred and George rarely split up themselves, so you shouldn't have a problem following them."

Percy's Weasley blush rapidly got replaced with pale skin and a look of abject fear. "Wait, Annette, pick me! I volunteer to look after the twins! It's nothing I haven't done before."

Head Girl Voorhees didn't even bother mitigating her laughter. "Are you kidding me, Percy? I've seen those two run laps around you from the quidditch pitch to the common room! If I put you in charge of looking after the twins, we'd all be dead before we reached the castle. Now, back to roll call. Gryffindors?"

Penelope turned to fellow Ravenclaw Nicole Grimmet, 6th year prefect. "I don't get it" she whispered. "What's so bad about the Weasley twins? I mean, they just pull pranks, right?"

Nicole looked at the younger girl with pity. "Lass," she said, "just last year, those two managed to set carriage 14's portable wardstone _on fire_." She whispered the last two words to the girl in a tone of fearful awe. "Nobody knows how they did it. To this day, it still baffles the professors so badly that Professor Babbling has told her class that anybody that can manage to duplicate that feat using Runes will get an automatic Outstanding for their NEWT Runes exams."

"Oh, shit" Penelope said slowly, going green. "Oh _shit! _How am I supposed to stop them doing something?"

Nicole laughed. "Stop them? The best you can hope for is to survive them!" And with that, she walked off to talk to Marcus Flint, who was lounging in a corner and glowering at the Gryffindors.

As Penelope walked out of the carriage, no doubt dazed and angry about what the next few hours of her life would be like, Percy sighed to himself. Somehow, he just _knew_ that she was going to blame him for whatever mayhem the Twins would come up with. This was not how he pictured his attempt at improving inter-house relationships would go today...

* * *

In another part of the train, a group of three males and two females eyed each other over a suspiciously expensive-looking tea set. "Right." Male #2, a blonde wearing an incredibly ornate-looking yet somehow understated dress robe, said as he gazed at the two witches in front of him with cold silver eyes. "And just what are you planning, Miss Greengrass?"

A girl with blonde hair, sharp features and dress robes nearly as ornate as the male blonde's trained her hard stare on the boy she'd mentally dubbed 'the victim'. "A partnership. You get the male Slytherin side of our year while I keep the female Snakes in line. It's a mutually beneficial arrangement for both of us."

"That... depends on a few things, Miss Greengrass. Namely your ability to enter Slytherin in the first place, your commitment to our ideals, your ability to command the ladies and what you offer as collateral to ensure that I am not backing a traitor." He very carefully failed to note the look the Greengrass girl was sending him. He was not scared of girls, no matter how hard Mommy tried to scare him off with that 'Talk' of hers.

It's at that point that the other girl in the carriage, dark hair and intense blue eyes eyeing up the three boys. "I am the collateral. Should Daph not live up to her side of the bargain, I am to become part of your retinue."

The blond eyed the girl, a calculating look fighting (and failing) to hide itself from their target's attention. "I already have two bodyguards following me around as well as a number of people willing to play sycophant, you know." He said, waving at the two other boys staring off into space. "So who are you, and what can you offer me that Greengrass would even consider you worthy enough to be used as a political bargaining chip?"

"Davis, Malfoy. Tracy Davis. We met at your birthday party four years ago."

Draco Malfoy, the boy who lived to copy his father's mannerisms, couldn't stop himself from showing an uncomfortable amount of emotion at hearing these words. "The heiress of house Davis? And she's your retainer, miss Greengrass?" At the blonde girl's nod, Malfoy's startled features smoothed out into a toothy grin. "How in the world did that happen? Nevermind. Deal. However, should she follow me into Slytherin, I will want Parkinson."

Daphne just nodded. "As long as I get Zabini and Longbottom in exchange. Tell me Malfoy, why do you want her closer to you?"

"Love potions." The boy's face assumed the neutral stance he'd seen his father take whenever he was faced with something to do with mudbloods. "She is technically my betrothed when I turn sixteen, but she may try to make her move earlier. And the closer I am to her, the less she can hide from me. And why do you want Zabini and Longbottom?"

"I've known Blaise since his mother tried to assassinate mine and my father tortured the Zabini family turtle to death in restitution. We've been best friends since. As for Neville, well, Tracy likes him for some reason."

Tracy blushed in embarrassment. "He's a nice boy."

Daphne just patted her friend and confidante on the back.

* * *

"Where to now, boss?" One of the boys who would grow up to be a henchman, just like dear old dad, asked his first ever Evil Wizard boss.

Draco rolled his eyes, trying to delay the answer by as much as possible, hopefully until he'd finished looking through all the cabins in this carriage and was safely located wherever he could brief these two morons on what he was doing. And just why had his father foisted these buffoons onto him? Didn't he give Draco enough chores to do for the year without siccing the least helpful help he could find? He'd begged to take Dobby with him instead, but then his father just put on his pouty frown that led to ouchies and that was, well, that for Draky-poo. Still, he couldn't concentrate on locating someone that looked like a Potter when those two fixed him with such a vacant-eyed stare. He felt like he was being followed by two dead fish transfigured to vaguely resemble human beings. Little wonder that their parents had been featured as muggles in that pureblood pamphlet Father never reads when in polite company.

He lasted for all of four carriages. He was sure that Mother will be proud of the effort when he tells her about it one day. "We're off to find Potter, Crabbe. Daddy has promised be a new broom and a bucket of sweets if I subjugate Harry Potter to the will of the Malfoy family, so that is what we are going to do."

"A bucket, boss?" One of the interchangeable dunderheads asked.

"Yes, a bucket of sweets." the Malfoy heir said, a greedy little leer flitting across his aristocratic face for a second. "But I only get it if Daddy gets Potter." He pointed out quickly when he noticed a strange look cross their otherwise vacant, beady little eyes.

"That is a lot of sweets, boss."

A muffled guffaw came from the carriage behind Malfoy as he stopped and tried to explain to these two what was going on. He turned around and stared at what lay beyond, finding nothing but a few upper years whose names he didn't know staring at the various cabin fixtures in what they hoped was an innocent display. And since he didn't know their names, they were bound to be mudbloods. Mudbloods, yeah. That was it.

He waved off any further questions, hoping beyond hope that they would understand what he was trying to convey. "I know. Now can you please stop calling me boss? The mudbloods are laughing at us."

Vincent Crabbe smiled at the confirmation of his father's words. Crabbe the Elder, known as Richard, had told him that the Malfoys were some of the nicest Evil Masters a boy could train under, always willing to explain things in an extremely loud voice so that they could hear what was being said and being good bosses by asking their minions not to call them boss. "Sure thing, boss." He crowed loudly. These seven years were going to be the best years _ever_. Gregory Goyle grinned as well. He was probably thinking. Thinking was nice. It felt tingly on his scalp.

"... Nevermind." Draco sighed, trying to put as much distance between himself and the now openly laughing mudbloods as quickly as possible.

* * *

"Is Harry Potter here, by any chance?"

"Nope."

"No."

"Sorry."

"Fuck off, you inbred cunt."

"Well, thanks anyway. And you shut up, Weasley. My mother did not marry her first cousin, unlike yours. All that red hair and poverty clearly wasn't good for the poor woman's mental health, now was it? I would ask if that was the mouth you kissed your mother with, but that's probably what made it dirty in the first place!"

"Hey! Come back here and fight like a man, Malfoy!"

"Crabbe! Goyle!"

"With pleasure, boss!"

"And to the rest of you, I bid good day."

* * *

"Harry Potter."

"Yes?" The dark-haired, green-eyed boy asked, looking up from his current reading material (_Uranium: that other Dragon's Blood_) into the face of an exhausted, somewhat angry-looking child his own age. He was dressed in expensive robes, but they now looked slightly disshevelled, almost as if he'd gone for a long hike in them. The other two boys flanking Blondie wore what looked like well-worn clothing, but had that look that said that Mr Brain was taking a vacation. "Can I help you? You look lost."

The blonde looked surprised for a second before Harry's senses told him that this kid was feeling a massive upswell of positive emotions, which surprised Harry. He was dulling his senses down until he got used to deploying them in a magical environment, so to feel something like emotions break through that barrier would have taken a lot. "Yes, indeed."

Hermione looked up from her low-key discussion with Neville about the best approoaches to studying magical plants while Neville, upon hearing who the voice belonged to, decided to ignore it and focus on how his companions would handle Malfoy and his... well, friends? He wasn't sure. The Malfoys, Crabbes and Goyles had a chequered history, so gauging whether Malfoy was their leader or whether he was a hostage to one of the other Dark families' bid for factional leadership was always up for discussion. Harry just looked at the boy as politely and expectantly as he could. "And you are?"

"Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. To my left you'll find Vincent Crabbe and to my right you'll find Gregory Goyle." Hermione, having encountered the pompous nobility breed thanks to her parents' clinic and her old school's wealthier denizens, took a closer look at the two boys accompanying the lavishly dressed blondie. They looked stupid, but there was something... off. Nobody pulls off looking stupid that well. Especially not when you consider the fact that using the Force, even with the incredibly simplified process provided by wands, was a matter of mental acuity first and imagination second. So either these two were pulling off an act, or... _Food for thought, girl. Better keep an eye out for those two._ No, what really mattered right now was whether Malfoy was the thoughtful type that intentionally had his right-hand man be right-handed and a leftie as a left-hand man or whether he was just insanely lucky that way. It was hard to tell, sometimes, when dealing with posh ponces.

"Pleased to meet you, Draco. This is Neville Longbottom and Hermione Granger. Say hello guys." Both gave a half-hearted wave in Draco's direction, clearly interested in other things. "So Malfoy, what brings you here?"

In response, Draco held out a hand. "You'll soon find out that some wizarding families are better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort."

Hermione snorted, understanding what Draco was trying to do. "Don't worry Malfoy. We've already got a tour guide. We don't need another one."

The hand went down. "What do you mean, 'tour guide'? What is a tour guide."

"Just someone who tells us what's what, who is good, who is bad, why are things done like this, and so on and so forth." Harry said, cutting off his bushy-haired best friend's reply before she got snippy. "That was what you were going to do, right?"

"Yes, that's what I was going to do." Malfoy was at a loss. Father hadn't coached him about how to handle this! "Exactly."

"We already have Neville though." The bushy-haired girl told him. "Though you three are welcome to sit in here if you like."

"Malfoy" Neville said. "Now is not the time for this."

"Oh?" Draco said, eyes starting to glint dangerously as he realised that his offer was being rejected. "And why not?"

"They don't know, Malfoy. Neither of them understands our customs enough to."

"That's a load of crock, you pathetic squib." the blonde intoned maliciously, missing the way the girl suddenly went disturbingly still. "He's the boy-who-lived!"

"Muggle-raised." Neville said, nervously glancing at his two companions in the vain hope that they'd missed the muggle comment.

Malfoy scoffed. "Seriously? The saviour of the wizarding world is as knowledgeable as a mudblood? Please."

"Malfoy. S-stop insulting people." Neville said, having seen Hermione's steadily darkening look everytime Draco said an M-word. "It's racist."

"You truly are little better than a squib, Nev." Draco said. "We're purebloods! You shouldn't be afraid of what a bunch of magic-less freaks can do. It's not like they can do anything. So how do we do this? You get Potter in school, I get him for vacations?"

"Draco..."

"Fine, you can have him over for winter and summer solstice celebrations." Malfoy said, shrugging. "I don't think Father will mind that much."

"Hey!" Harry shouted. "It's my life. I determine what I do with it!" Hermione, steadily losing herself in a rage-induced Force stream, barely snapped out of it with that outburst. Though her thought processes were a teensie bit muddled by the raging torrent of white-hot Force she was struggling to vent as surreptitiously as possible, the fact that her apprentice had stood up for himself was a rather odd development.

"Oh please. You may be a half-blood Harry, but you clearly need our help if you are going to be one of us." the blonde contemplated his two companions. "And find you a better class of friends too, I suppose. I mean, our saviour having a mudblood as a friend? As a secretary she has potential, but a social equal? Face it Harry, without us, you'll be stuck as a mudblood too, which is something you don't want."

That was it. Hermione, rather than desperately trying to regain control over her emotions, lost it. Coincidentally, Harry lost his temper around that time too. And in their Force Vision, they could see a heavily concentrated hurricane of force barrelling at the blonde and his two stooges.

* * *

"Come on, Jackie. I want to go and find my baby cousin!"

Jackie Flinton, fifth year Gryffindor and newly minted prefect, sighed at her nominal superior's antics. Thanks to Percy "I-can't-keep-my-bloody-mouth-shut" Weasley, she was stuck with Nymphadora Tonks, the hellion of Hufflepuff, as her shakedown patrol partner and she certainly lived up to that moniker.

"And our patrol schedule, ma'am? Aren't we supposed to follow that somehow?"

"Oh _puh-leeze_. A patrol on the Hogwarts express consists of patrolling up one carriage and down one carriage. And as long as all the students are covered, Eddie couldn't give less of a shit about who goes where. Annette's the one with her wand shoved firmly up her ass, and I have enough blackmail on her to keep that cock-gobbling mouth of hers shut from now until the return of Merlin." She said, smiling at the blush the new Gryffie prefect was sporting. She _loved _needling the prudes, an emotion that reflected itself in her hair changing to a bright neon blue colour. "Oh, stop it. Look, we just go out and find my baby cousin and then we can go and do the train-wank."

"Train wank-oh, I get it, it's because we're moving up and down a long shaft until we reach the top, right?" Jackie said, pride evident in her voice at keeping abreast with Tonk's innuendo.

"Huh, never thought of it that way. I call it train wank because we just go up and down the train, showing ourselves to be right wankers rather than spending time with our mates."

"Err, right. So what's the name of your cousin, then?"

Tonks grinned. "Harry Potter." she laughed at Jackie's stare. "Yeah, I can't wait to see him! Haven't laid eyes on 'im since I was seven."

"W-wait, you're related? To the boy-who-lived?"

"Yes, as are most of the purebloods on the train. Let me tell you, if Mom hadn't gotten her _derriere _kicked out of polite society, my christmas card list alone would be absolute murder. As it is, I'm his and that Malfoy brat's cousin, so..." She shrugged. "Just want to see how he turned out before he gets slapped by the faceful of crazy that is Hogwarts, you know."

"Alright." She sighed. "I have to check up on him anyway, make sure nobody tries anything fresh with the new celebrity. Apparently, me dad was helping old man Jackson a few months back when Harry Potter waltzed into the shop. Caused right fucking chaos, that did. And the last thing I want is for something to go bad with the Boy-Who-Lived before us prefects can foist 'em off onto the Porfessor's shoulders." She gestured down the train. "Lead on, ma'am. You're the one with prefecting experience, so shake it like you make it."

"Haha, what? Shake it like you make it?"

"Muggleborn here, remember? Too much daytime TV over summer."

"Really? Did you catch the Doctor Who reruns as well?"

"Sometimes, when nothing better was on. I missed out on the Colin Baker ones."

"So did I. The only shows I was able to catch this summer featured either a time-travelling Malfoy look-alike or that creepy old bloke with the nitro-nine girl. "

"Poor you."

"Yeah. Anyway, how's your first day of prefecting so far?"

"Boring. I thought it'd be more, well, more you know?"

"You'll get used to it. Now come on."

* * *

The first indication that those outside the so-called Potter cabin had that something was about to go badly wrong was the utter silence. To any dedicated observer of when a high-society pureblooded firstie encounters those of lesser breeding, the events are fairly predictable: pureblood and cronies enter a compartment, pleasantries are exchanged for a couple of seconds, wands are drawn and more mature minds are forced to intervene. Sometimes, blood is drawn, parents are notified and detentions are handed out.

On other, rarer occasions everybody calms down, apologises profusely to one another under the watchful glare of adults and two seemingly hostile groups start to fraternise. When their elders leave, the two groups lapse into an awkward silence, too far apart to actually engage in conversation yet bound by their budding disrespect for the establishment. Rare are the times when these events vary and yet it is often easy to predict when this is going to happen. Either the two groups know of each other, the parents know each other or they are already acting against the establishment and trying to be polite to each other.

In this case, however, things did not follow the above scenarios. Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle entered the compartment intent on locating Harry Potter. They found him in the company of a squib, a toad, an owl and a mudblood.

Dead silence was the only thing that could be heard to those outside the compartment. Ron Weasley, currently on the run from a tarantula-wielding Fred and George, stopped dead as he noticed the unnaturally intense feeling coming from there. Tonks and Flinton, having just entered the carriage, started running towards what felt like an overloading runic cluster about to blow, wands in their hands and _finite_ spells on their lips.

They were too late. An almighty THUMP rocked the carriage as the doors to the cabin started smoking before bulging outwards to an almost impossible degree, the wood splintering and the glass cracking as the strain grew heavier and heavier. Finally, the hinges flew off at odd angles, the _zing_ they made as they flew past the stunned onlookers masked by the CLAP of the door as it collapsed in upon itself and fell to the floor. Half a second later, three unconscious children floated out of the compartment, slowly and serenely, before being dumped onto the ground with a muffled _thump_.

"A-are they okay?" A fearful voice said from inside the cabin.

"Neville" another, angrier voice growled. "Do I look like I care? They insulted you and Hermione."

"Harry." a distinctly more high-pitched voice called out. "What did I tell you about doing that?"

"Not to do it again." The second voice said, sounding more bashful and subdued than before.

"And so why did you do it again?"

"They were insulting you!" He defended. "I couldn't let them get away with it, you know that. And you did it too! Don't think I didn't notice."

"Apprentice" the girl's voice whispered "I was going to do something a lot less damaging than what you did. Are you saying that we are now the centre of everyone's attention just because you assume that I can't defend myself? "

"No, it's just-"

Smack. "I was serious last time, Potter. Don't do something like that again." A muffled grunt ended the conversation.

Flinton went to check on the three firsties currently knocked out on the floor while Tonks stepped into the compartment. "And what is going on here?"

The pudgy brown-haired boy fidgeted with the hem of his robes, eyes fixed on a point about nine inches above the pink-haired prefect's face. "Err sorry miss, just a bit of accidental magic is all."

The girl in black robes wearing a golden P with a yellow and black background surrounding it looked suspiciously at the door that had been snapped in half and ripped out of its frame by the magic "that's quite a contained area for accidental magic. Almost oddly _specific, _wouldn't you say?"

And it was true. Normally, accidental magic capable of doing enough damage to tear a magically enhanced sliding door in half would have left the rest of the carriage in dire straits. But nothing was out of place inside the pristine art-deco-style cabin: the trunks were still on the racks, the animals were hanging around, looking cool and the children were normal scruffy rather than disaster survival scruffy.

The bushy-haired girl nodded. "Indeed. Harry rarely manages not to destroy things when he loses his temper. Guess this is just our lucky day, huh?" She smiled at the two authority figures poking around.

The second girl, wearing a P badge with a distinctive red and gold background stood up after examining the Malfoy kid and his retinue. "Indeed. Looks like these three were just stunned by magic, Tonks. They should wake up in an hour or so. The door, on the other hand, is dead." She waved her wand above the splintered wreckage and whistled. "Wow. Pure kinetic force impact? Seriously?"

Tonks went pale. "Myrrdin fucking Emrys. Had that thing hit them instead of the door-" she palmed her face "-kid, you're damn lucky that bit of "accidental" magic didn't actually kill the Malfoy boy or we would have all been in big trouble."

"Right. So now what?" Neville asked, turning to Flinton.

"Now we go and find a healer while we still can. In the meantime, you three have to go and find somewhere else to sit." Jackie said, eyeing the chubby boy with the worried frown seemingly etched on. "And tell them to get their robes on when Tonks has finished manhandling Harry."

"How did you-" He asked, pointing at what must have been a surprising scene occurring right behind her.

Jackie smiled. "I love being proven right. Now look after these three while I go get help, there's a good lad."

He just nodded at the nice prefect while watching a fully grown woman with pink hair squeeing and cuddling her two friends for some odd reason. At that point, nodding was all he could do.

* * *

_A/N:Finished! Except for a minor Omake I wrote myself. The actual AN is at the end of that Omake._

**Omake**: Classified

Cornelius Fudge looked at the pile of documents he and DMLE head Bones were picking through in a vain attempt at catching up on paperwork. Something was decidedly off about this, though. One of the folders in his inbox did not look like any other he'd ever seen.

Picking up the manila folder painted in bold crimson colours and, staring at the heading once more, resorted to something that had defined his political career since his days as an activist; he asked important questions from the closest possible source of information he could find. And, lucky him, he didn't have to look too far to find that source today.

"Amelia?" Cornelius asked.

"Yes, minister?"

"What does this colour scheme mean?" he said, indicating the bold red colour stamped across the folder.

"Oh, those. Well, it's just that muggle organisations sometimes use these words to indicate how secret documents should be treated and whether certain people are allowed to see these documents or not."

"Oh, that's good. And why am I only finding out about this now?"

"Well, it's just recently made its way out of the Unspeakables' department, so we have yet to completely integrate it into our administrative protocols. That, and it's better that only the right people know about this."

"Good, good. Very sensible of you, Lady Bones. Since you know so much about this, can you please tell me what these words are supposed to signify?" he asked, his finger indicating a boldly outlined danger symbol with "DOM prophecy division (liaison memo). SBC (Super Bloody Classified) clearance required; do not open until September 12th, 2001." The DMLE head gave a little squeak of surprise.

"Ahahah, minister? Please kindly hand that over to me, sir?" She said, holding her left hand out while her right went under the table and reached for her backup disposable wand. Slightly confused and wary of her behaviour, Minister Fudge handed the envelope over to her. Checking the seals, she sighed and stashed her disposable back in its holster. He hadn't read the contents, meaning that she didn't have to kill him just yet. "Now, these words here, SBC? This indicates that only the head of the DOM is allowed access to this file. And even then, he is not to open it until the indicated opening date. The penalties for opening the file before the indicated date are extremely harsh, sir. Even you would automatically be sentenced to Azkaban for life if you had opened this."

Fudge paled as he contemplated Amelia's words. "You mean to say that I don't have the highest classification in the Ministry? But that's outrageous!"

"Actually minister, you do have the highest classification allowed to either civilians or elected officials. If there was any additional information that you needed to know, we would tell you about it. It would be impractical, after all, if any one person had access to _all _our secrets, especially one in a position as... volatile as yours."

"Ah, I see. Thank you Amelia. Is there anything else?" Fudge asked, having gotten the veiled hint his minion for the day was trying to give him.

"No sir, all issues are being dealt with."

"Thank you. And can you please tell my secretary to come in here on your way out please?" He asked, clearly uncomfortable with being in her presence right then.

"Yes, minister"

* * *

A short time later, in Saint Jiminy's, a magical cafe located across the road from Diagon Alley's dedicated floo connection to the MOM, a rare event was taking place. Lucius Malfoy, Algernon Croaker and Amelia Bones were sitting around and drinking tea.

"Poor Cornelius" Croaker chuckled. "Always was too gullible for his own good. Did you take pictures of his face, at least?"

"Sorry." Amelia said between chuckles. "It's just... Oh, i'll show you in a pensieve later."

"And why, exactly, did you two decide to prank the Minister of Magic into believing that?"

"Budget cuts on my side." Amelia admitted. "That, and I'm spending way too long briefing him on issues when I have my own work to do. At least now I understand why old Barty was so surprised at finding out his son was a Death Eater. Why, even with a peacetime workload it's absolute murder, having to find time for Susan."

"And you?"

"I've known Cornelius since school, Lucius. Even back then, he made it a habit of trying to crawl up both mine and Abraxas' asses on a semi-regular basis. Trust me, if it had been your father in my position, dear old Fudge would have been six feet under the week after the elections taking place. Me, I just needed a legitimate excuse to get him to back off and let me run my department. Now I've got it, now I'm happy."

"And would either of you two mind if I steal this little excuse of yours? I must admit that, between him and my Wizengamot duties, being able to prioritise is a... trying task." he said with the trademark drawl of Malfoys everywhere. Amelia just merely smiled.

"Why of course, Lucius. Be sure to use it on The Toad at your earliest convenience, too. Dealing with that bitch makes me sick."

Lucius's eyes lit up. "Why of course! How could I forget about dear Dolores? If anyone should be kept clear from state secrets, it would be her. I will be sure to do you this favour at the earliest opportunity, Madame Bones, rest assured of that. And now, if you'll excuse me..."

"Goodbye Lord Malfoy."

"See you during the next wednesday session. Oh, and remember to brief Nott and Parkinson on their duties, okay? It wouldn't do for the two new assistant secretaries to the Supreme Mugwump to not know anything about their assigned positions."

"I'll make sure of it, Algie. Now, as much as it pains me to love you and leave you..."

A couple of minutes later, after enjoying a nice cup of tea liberally doused with hard liquor, the two career fighters went to work warding their table.

"Right." Croaker said in his professional voice. "Do you think he bought it?" Bones punched him in the shoulder. "Oy! Be careful, I am a delicate old man, I shall have you know! What was that- oh, you're angry at me, explain." he asked.

"_Graaandpaaa!_ Do you know just how fucking close I came to having to terminate the current minister of magic because of your bullshit?" She asked in a heavy Yorker accent. _"This _close, Algie!" she held out her thumb and forefinger out for him to see, the two very close to touching each other. _"This close._ And how would I have been able to look after my dead sister's child while I was enjoying Hotel Azkaban, pray tell? You? And how long do you think you'd have lasted?_"_

"Ah. This is about the SBC clearance folder, right?"

"Yes, it is!" she shouted at him, his pose indicating embarrasment and apologies on the way while she looked like she was on the verge of snapping and attempting to stab him with her teaspoon.

"Look, even if you would have had to initiate cleanup protocols, nothing would have happened to you. Officially, you were on the other side of Europe at the time, attending a dinner held in the honor of the head of the Siberian MLE division. There would have been a bunch of high-ranking officials willing to swear that you were right there speaking to them at the time when Cornelius Fudge misapplied a cheering charm to himself and died of a heart attack brought on by a happiness-induced orgasm." He shrugged his shoulders. "You were never in any danger, Amelia. As for that folder, it was booby-trapped anyway. Had Fudge's curiosity gotten the better of him, then you would have walked in on what was left of Fudge dripping off the walls and ceiling."

"Why did you do this?"

"Technically, it's above your paygrade. But, given that you were involved in this, the simple answer is that I needed to know whether or not Cornelius Fudge could be trusted enough to know his boundaries."

"Ah, okay." She sighed. "Right, thanks for telling me." The sarcasm in the tone was not lost on the elderly head of the Ministry's secret services division. "Just don't do that again without telling me that something was going on next time. As for your original question, yes, Lucius bought it."

"I'm relieved. If he ever found out about the _actual_ secret files..."

"I understand. Thankfully, he's still the most obvious Slytherin I've ever met."

"Well, of course he is. He was top dog in Slytherin back when he and you went to school, right?"

"Yeah, even in first year he was a massive dick to non-Slytherins. I still don't understand why my sister liked the guy."

"She certainly grew out of that phase, didn't she?"

"Mostly, though I think that it was only the rumour that he was the one that offed that husband of hers that broke the crush."

"Not earlier? Wow." He was surprised at that. His other grand-daughter had been such a sweet and sensible girl whenever he was around, he sometimes forgot that she'd also been the hellion amongst that generation in the Bones household.

She shrugged. "Bones girls have a thing for bad guys. I think that's why so many of us end up working for the aurors. It either snaps us out of it or allows us to put them in a cell and keep at our mercy until they break and put that ring on our hands."

"Heheh, yeah, good times those. Your grandmother was a _minx_ in bed, let me tell you."

"Eww, grandpa! I really didn't need to know that!"

"And I didn't need to be reminded about the real reason my daughters, grand-daughters and likely my great-granddaughters are bloody policemen rather than following the Croaker's noble tradition of pursuing the more, ah, _active_ forms of government service. So much potential wasted because you girls have a thing for criminals in spiky black leather pants..." He shrugged. "Now we're even."

"Fine, be that way. Just remember that, once upon a time, _you _were the one in spiky black leather pants." She laughed at her grandfather's blush. It wasn't often that they got to do this anymore, which was a pity. Needling each other was so much fun. Still... "Look, I'm going to be late tonight. Can you tell Wincey to bring me some food at around nine?"

"Sure thing. And remember to owl Susan before saturday, she's probably scared stiff in Albus's little institute for the advancement of the offspring of inbred morons." She nodded, smiling at his description of Hogwarts. A year or so ago, she would have taken him to task over that. However, any thoughts of protest died with the arrival of John "foot-in-mouth" Dawlish.

"And grandpa? Why put Cornelius and me through this?" she interrupted his coming tirade hastily. "Look, I know that that confidence thing is bullshit protocol. I find myself having to indulge in a spot of it too, on occasion. So what brought this on?"

"Well..." he ran his hand through his short-cropped hair. "Remember Millicent Bagnold?"

"Yes, previous minister of magic, currently enjoying retirement in the Carribean, hasn't been seen in five years. Why do you ask?"

"Well, six years ago, ex-minister Bagnold was caught selling state secrets and charmed portkeys to the Magical Soviet Union for 75 million Galleons." Amelia winced. "Exactly. Had we not caught her in time, that little deal would have culminated in either World War three or the total annihilation of NATO in a crippling opening strike from the magical side of things. Ergo, she didn't take a trip to the Carribean." He smirked darkly at her. "No, not at all. She's been put somewhere... completely different. _That's_ why we are conducting these checks. Oh, and just so you know, this is Bloody Classified. If you breathe one word of this to anyone-"

"I'd better AK myself before you catch up with me, I know." She snorted as she struggled to regain a bit of colour on her flushed face. She absolutely _hated_ stories about the Cold War her family got involved in sometimes. Voldemort was one thing, but facing Armageddon with only the kind of people accepted in the ranks of the DOM (brilliant, scatterbrained, slightly unhinged and without any morals at all) was something far more terrifying to her. "Well, I'd better get going gramps. Tomorrow, usual place, same time, same order?"

"Same time, same order. Love you, Amelia. And say hi to little Susie from me."

"Will do. Bye!" And with that, the Head of house Bones, the ultimate badass British Auror, commanding close to a hundred fully trained law enforcement officers and possessing a literal licence to kill, hugged her elderly grandfather and skipped over the counter to pay for the pot of tea. He could still hear her apologising to the maitre d' for warding her table with active MCM defence wards, which made him smile. _So much like her mother, that one. Ah well, back to work..._

The time he thought this happened to coincide roughly with the moment when the ministry was informed that Gringotts had been burgled.

* * *

**A/N**: _"Myrrdin fucking Emrys. What the hell was that?" Well... I got enthusiastic again? Sorry..._

_Malfoy survived because the two sets of 'accidental magic' clashed with each other, partially deflecting away from their target. Unfortunately, the magic grounded itself on the door, overloading whatever enchantments were on it. And that's all I'll say on the matter. _

_And yes, Draco in this fic is... odd. He's trying to reconcile his starved pre-teen brain with the extensive coaching his father has given him since he was eight. Though he is a good actor, his private thoughts are a lot less developed than his classmates' are for the moment. Hogwarts will help._

"_rumpitur" spell: latin for blast (literally, I typed blast into Google translate to get this), releases either a small crack of displaced air when cast at low power all the way up to a minor thermobaric blast when overpowered by a wizard of either Dumbledore's or Voldemort's caliber. _

_MCM: Magical Counter Measure, class seven magical defence system spell-set, designed primarily for disabling and incarcerating trespassers. Engineered to be cast quickly and surreptitiously, MCM defence spells and mobile wards are a versatile and effective means of rendering an area secure from any and all magical forms of espionage and stealthy intrusion. Though tested extensively on wizards and witches, the effect MCM spell-sets have on other magical creatures is largely unknown, though werewolves are known to be largely unaffected by anything but the most powerful MCM sets._

_My prefects list:_

_Gabriel Truman-Hufflepuff, y5_

_-Mervyn Wynch-Hufflepuff, y5_

_-Ross Gibberd-Hufflepuff, y6_

_-Ivana Renshaw-Hufflepuff, y6_

_Nymphadora Tonks-Hufflepuff, y7_

_- Ross Matthewson-Hufflepuff, y7_

_Robert Hilliard-Ravenclaw, y5_

_Penelope Clearwater-Ravenclaw, y5_

_- Robert Hawking-Ravenclaw, y6_

_- Nicole Grimmett-Ravenclaw, y6_

_- Edmund Spiers-Ravenclaw, y7 (Head Boy)_

_- Felicia Brunt-Ravenclaw, y7_

_Percy Weasley-Gryffindor, y5_

_- Jackie Flinton-Gryffindor, y5_

_- Simon Dedworth-Gryffindor, y6_

_- Annette Sterndale-Gryffindor, y6_

_- Cyril Meakin-Gryffindor, y7_

_- Annette Voorhees-Gryffindor, y7 (Head Girl)_

_Gemma Farley-Slytherin, y5_

_- Alex Strump-Slytherin, y5_

_- Marcus Flint-Slytherin, y6_

_- Daedara Rosschester-Slytherin, y6_

_- Antoinette Friesinger-Slytherin, y7_

_Anthony Delocious-Slytherin, y7_

_Took the prefects' names from the HP wiki. There is a whole list of prefects that popped up for POA, and the rest of them were made up by me. Some will be featured regularly, but won't be part of the main plot, so don't worry. _


End file.
